four hundred thirty one

 SCHOOL SHOOTING

On October 15, 2026 a school shooting happened in a quiet elementary school that I drive past several times a month. I know a couple of men who have children attending this school. The children, community and families have taken this extremely hard.

There was a strict policy of no guns on campus; not in the building, on the property and not legally secured in a car. There only defense were  signs that said no guns on campus. They locked the doors and ran regular active shooter drills. Their genius plan was to hide, remain quiet and wait for help.

A parent dropping off his children noticed a suspicious young man trying to enter the building who had a shot gun and plenty of ammunition. The gunman shot the locked door window and entered a classroom. He shot and killed three children ages 5, 8 and 11 and a 25 year old teacher. 

The armed father entered the building and classroom as the gunman was struggling with a heroic but unarmed teacher. He quickly shot and killed the gunman. 

He was credited with saving many children and teacher's lives. A 7 year old student and a teacher were also wounded by the gunman and were hospitalized and are both recovering.

The national media covered the story but a good guy with a gun saving children and teachers did not fit their narrative, they quickly moved back to the very important projected election poll numbers. The media focuses on only one solution for school shootings, limit access to guns or get rid of them all together. 

Many schools have adopted these gun free zone policies but school shootings keep happening. After each new shooting the same politicians, news outlets and celebrities get in front of a camera with feigned outrage and say the problem is guns. I call that the definition of insanity, doing the same thing over and over expecting a different result.

I do not understand why leaving our precious children without protection can protect them. Perhaps our banks, sporting events, politicians, executives and celebrities would be safer with signs and gun free zones. This always struck me as disgustingly hypocritical, our officials make speeches about school safety while they are surrounded by armed body guards, armed security and armed police officers. 

When I was in school kids took their guns to school on the school bus for a rifle safety class. We learned to handle them safely, maintain and shoot our guns in a safe way. We learned they could be dangerous if handled incorrectly so they needed to be respected but not feared. Responsibility was the focus. 

I know everything has changed but the need for these classes has not. If a kid never hunts or has an interest in guns understanding the basics is still important. They will eventually be around a gun so knowing what not to do is important. I have in the past owned a few guns but hunting doesn't interest me. 

As for self defense I leverage the fact that I "might" be armed, in other words I bluff. The chance that I might be armed has worked. I never talked or acted like I am armed because the possibility or mystery has been enough. Protecting my loved ones is another story, I'll do what ever it takes but that is no one's business.

This basic principle is something I learned in bad neighborhoods and redneck bars. How I walk talk and act kept me safe. If I looked like a target or victim I would soon be a target or victim. 

Announcing to the world a school is unarmed and announcing their safety plan is to hide, stay quiet and wait for help is foolish. I believe the unknown is very powerful if done right. 

Imagine if a school just kept their plan quiet and created a mystery, a would be shooter may choose a softer target. This has happened in other shootings, the unarmed school was their second choice for a target.

I know what I am suggesting will not be implemented with the political climate in Oregon but if people were honest they know it would work, it is just common sense.

Imagine the focus was keeping the children safe. Accepting the fact that the world we live in bad guys have access to guns. Acquiring a weapon legally or illegally by straw purchase, theft or borrowing, a determined bad guy will get their hands on a gun. Granted some gun access has been prevented with background checks. In some states with red flag laws worked but they have also been abused. The fact is a bad guy will get a gun by hook or by crook.

There are very few statistics on crime prevention, a crime that does not happen is hard to track. Crimes that don't happen never make the news. Because school shootings are increasing so logic suggests the current approach may not be working. 

There are schools in some areas that allow armed staff, police on campus and honor concealed carry laws on school property. This is always portrayed by the media as an armed camp that is traumatizing the children. Perhaps the constant focus on the "scary gun" has set the ground work for this trauma. The truth is teachers don't shoot their students they die trying to save them!

My plan would be to make available training and equipping for willing school staff members. Approved fire arms, training and gun safes. No person would be required to do this but the fact that some do would be a deterrent.

Years ago I worked a night security job in Phoenix. I had a plastic badge, pepper spray, a junk radio and no authority. The property owners hired us to stop vandalism and theft. All we did was walk around the property every hour, not to be crime fighters but to be present.

A few weeks after we started crime went down, not because we caught the bad guys but because we were there. Eventually the property or business owners terminated our contract because there was no crime. A few months later they would re-hire us because the crime came back.

In an ideal world none of this should happen but our world is not ideal. We have a choice wait till the world is ideal again or keeping our precious children and teachers safe in the world we have.

The absolute least we should do is not act like victims but speak with one strong undivided voice. Our schools are a target because we let them be a target. 

This was my rant, the pain this community suffered should never happen but it did. Good guys with guns is all we have to confront bad guys with guns, so until they find a politically correct warm and fuzzy solution that actually works this is all we have.  

To the celebrities, politicians and media super stars; please hold your feigned outrage and focus on a real world solution. Until then enjoy your personal security guards and secure gated community. 

In the mean time schools will post more signs and the children will keep drilling...... hide, stay quiet and wait for help.

four hundred thirty

 Field of Dreams

The 1989 Field of Dreams movie follows Ray Kinsella, played by Keven Costner, an Iowa corn farmer who hears a mystical voice urging him to follow a series of unconventional tasks centered around baseball, redemption, and family healing. The plot focuses on America's ageless love for the game of baseball.

 

I love the game of baseball but I don't like today's Major League baseball. In fact as I write this the World Series is being played. I don't know or care who is winning or losing, the game at the professional level has changed too much.

To me a well coached little league or girls soft ball game is much more interesting. Money, sponsors, media and technology have changed the game too much in my opinion. It lost the grit and human factor. 

Access to the players, ticket prices, streaming sports packages, replay, that damn digital strike zone,  wokeness and politics from the sports casters and superstars with gold chains and super cars. 

I want to sit in a seat with the threat of a foul tip in the teeth surrounded by obnoxious fans. I want bad calls so we can swear at the blind umpire and watch the bench empty as a point of honor. 

Baseball isn't alway fair it is mind games, trash talk and and an acceptable amount of cheating. Grease behind the ear, corked bats,  stolen signals and cleats first base running. I love the theatrical outrage as coaches and umpires yelling nose to nose. 

I love the brush back pitch followed by charging the mound. With all of the weapons available baseball players are not effective fighters. The benches clear and everyone gets their uniform dirty but no one seems to get seriously hurt.

Professional baseball is a collection of men with super human skills, let them play. Baseball is an emotional roller coaster using replay and digital strike zone takes away much of that emotion. 

In all seriousness I think the game should be as fair as possible but police it with humans and let these well paid  athletes play. Let kids in free with access to the players, kids need super men heroes. Hopefully the players can do their part inspiring kids. That is what baseball was about, I miss that. Enough of my "boomer" speech, I doubt those days will ever come back. 

What I do know is there is still baseball in it's purest form on small town baseball diamonds most summer afternoons. Little league games and practices where boys and girls learn the basic skill of catching, throwing, hitting and running. 

They learn the basic rules and strategy of the game. Then they enter the world of pressure. Baseball puts you in the spotlight whether you like it or not. Your skills are tested with each turn at bat, every throw, every catch and every decision. You can be the hero or loser in the blink of an eye. In my opinion baseball is one big life lesson. It shapes personalities and builds life skills. Facing failure or feeling the thrill of victory. 

I watch these kids riding an emotional roller coaster every game. They feel the pain of losing or the euphoria of victory. I think winning a little league final is equal to the emotional thrill of winning the World Series, minus the champaign. 

Some kids lean on their natural talent but if they don't keep improving the less skilled kid who practices and masters the fundamentals can get the nod from the coach.

Good coaching at this stage is vital. Developing a person or a player hangs in the balance. Many life lessons both good and bad can shape a young boy or girl. The majority of the coaches I know have the right focus but the parents are another story. 

This is why Major League games is the place for obnoxious fans. A player making $780,000 or more can endure a little abusive language. A kid looking forward to a victory ice cream cone with the team doesn't deserve it. Parents yell at coaches, the players, the poor high school kid getting ten bucks a game for umpiring and other parents. 

Dads living out their own failed fantasies, mothers over protecting and publicly embarrassing their boys and a few who closet day drink. However most parents are supportive and let the kids and coaches play the game. 

Other things I love about the game is that it is never over until it is over. Many say it is slow and boring but every batting order, pitcher change, fielding strategy, secret signal and every pitch is an intricate dance, but it takes time to understand and appreciate it. 

Baseball movies are "guy movies" they bring back memories. Field of Dreams did this for me, this line in particular....

 "I'd wake up at night with the smell of the ballpark in my nose, the smell of the grass, the cool spray of the hose on a hot day. The crispness of a new ball. The crack of the bat, the smell of a ball or a glove. I used to love that. As if anything else mattered."

I have a baseball glove and ball on my desk but I haven't played in years. I keep it oiled with a new Rawlings ball in the pocket for smelling purposes. 

I haven't played much organized baseball mostly neighborhood sand lot with the neighborhood bats and gloves. Most of our games involved a fist fight and for a while the winners got to pee on the losers. 

We were all Cleveland Indian fans, everyone listened to the games on the radio. I still enjoy listening to a good color commentator more then watching it on TV. The sky is bluer, the grass is greener and every play is exciting. 

I have four audio books about baseball. "Great Baseball Stories" "Great Baseball Writing" "The Baseball 100" and "Yogi". I use them to relax and get away from the political clutter. I'm taken to amazing ball fields to watch legendary players. These are written by men who know and love baseball about men who loved baseball. 

I also have several classic baseball movies "Money Ball", "Major League 1&2", "The Natural", "Bull Durham", "Field of Dreams" and "The Sandlot".

The next time you drive by a ball field on a Saturday afternoon and see a little league or girls softball game, stop and watch for awhile, that is America at it's best.

four hundred twenty nine

THE MAN WITH NO LAST NAME

Dennis was a painter and had two dogs, that's about all I knew about Dennis outside of our meeting on Thursday nights.

I don't keep it a secret that I attend AA meetings and have for over 36 years. Even though we all know that death is inevitable we are shocked when it happens. Dennis was 68 and died of a massive heart attack at work.

My home group is an all men's meeting on Thursday nights called "As Men See It". It has a steady flow of new comers and relapsers which is normal for an AA group. 

There are several guys who have been there 20 years or from the beginning, Dennis was one of those founding "Old Timers" with 38 years of sobriety. I've been there for eight years but I feel new.

It's a very casual but serious meeting. The meeting has had a reputation for having fun and being a little irreverent. Many men have found a home there but a few men thought we aren't serious about AA so they started their own "serious"AA meeting.

We have been described as a social club and in a way we are but men find sponsors, work the steps and stick around. Odd Balls like me get sober and stay sober here. The room is filled with clear eyed, healthy and responsible, sober miracles.

Our meetings are focused on alcohol and they are anonymous so last names and outside issues are not discussed. Religion, politics and business are off of the table. A higher power, the steps and traditions, Big Book and our testimonies is the focus in our meetings.

We share how it was, what we did and how it is now. Sometimes a new guy dumps his heart out in an angry and tear filled drunk-a-log. Dennis would always show patients with a reassuring "you are in the right place".

Because we are a group of guys we haze each other but when the meeting starts it is all serious. Men do cry when dogs die and we care about the new guys who are struggling. Dennis was all of these wrapped in a giant Santa Claus bearded body.

The triangle on an AA coin says "Clean house, Trust God and Help others" This was how this man lived. I just left a meeting that usually has 10-15 men, tonight there were over 30. 

In one week the word got out to the community that Dennis had died and guys who had found other meetings or stopped coming for some reason were there to share in the loss of a friend. 

As the meeting went on I realized how much he had impacted the men in the room. He knew how to get under your skin but always knew when to check in. He spoke in actions and moments of deep concern sandwiched between loving but sometimes mean insults. But looking back even the mean insults had a purpose.

I understood Dennis and enjoyed giving him a ration of insults back. I love guys who can play this way and Dennis always went up to the edge but rarely over.  

I saw Dennis's heart, heard his story, learned from him and will dearly miss him.  It is weird to know a man so intimately, his fears, shame, hopes and heart but have no clue what his last name is, but that is the nature of AA. 

four hundred twenty eight

 My Dad's Shelby Work Car

I was a handful growing up, I wasn't in trouble with the law not that I didn't deserve it, I guess I was just a better sneak then my friends. My Dad had the patients of Job because I wrecked his cars, broke his tools, worried him sick and drove him crazy. 

My Dad was a frugal man who grew up through the great depression. He collected screws, scrap lumber, wire, bent nails and assorted junk. He never bought new shoes or clothing he went to the second hand store. So when he needed a car because my mother started working he found a 1952 Ford for $20. 

It ran but the hinges were rusted so the doors opened when you hit a bump so he wired them shut. The seats were full of field mice but Dad never drove fast enough to scare them away. No wipers, the tires were bald and different sizes but they held air. It did have turn signals but no blinker so you had to blink them with the handle. In other words it was a rolling safety violation. To my surprise he had valid plates and insurance thanks to my Mother.

One night he arrived home from the 2.5 mile drive from work, backed the car into the woods then climbed out the window. I laughed about it but it was nothing compared to the guys he worked with. 

My Dad was a machinist and a parts inspector. The shop was all men, older WW2 and Korean War vets and young guys so there was plenty of teasing and joking. My Dad drove painfully slow in general but in his $20 hotrod it was a snails pace. He parked on a hill in case it wouldn't start so he could coast it and pop the clutch. One morning they saw him crawl out of the window so he got the nick name NASCAR. 

Driving was always a point of argument between us, I drove too fast and he drove too slow. One Sunday my parents were leaving for the afternoon. On the way out of the driveway I asked my Dad if I could put stripes on his work car. He was distracted while arguing with my Mother and gave me a dismissive yes and drove away. 

Within minutes I had the chalk line, tape, white house paint and a brush. My vision was the Shelby Mustang stripes.

I finished and was so proud it came out perfectly. My parents came home at dusk and did not have a chance to admire my handy work.

It was a summer early morning about the time my Dad left for work I could hear him yelling but it wasn't a happy yell, I stayed in bed. My Dad took pride in never missing a day of work. It was too late to walk and my Mother was already working so he had no choice but to drive his "hotrod" to work. He could have asked me to drive him but looking back I think he knew he was way too angry. An hour later I was up and on my way to my own job. 

The day was quiet until I got home, my Dad was as mad as I had ever seen him. He was really angry and wondered what the hell I was thinking until my Mother pointed out that I had asked and he said yes. 

He realized there was no way to repair this the guys at work had already seen it. All he could do now was lean into it. He laughed right along with them but they all knew it was killing him. Don't feel sorry for my Dad he could give as good as he got.

The next few weeks they even arranged for a local cop to follow him home and pull him over. It was a joke but he wasn't laughing when he got home. Before winter he started car pooling so he sold his hotrod to the neighbor for $25.

It sat in a field on the neighbors farm for at least a decade. I made a point of pointing it out each time my Dad and I drove by.

You know those stupid things you did in your youth? Twenty years later you can talk about them and everyone laughs....... well my Dad never laughed about this one. I was a bit of an ass when I was a kid, so Dad had every right to kick my ass daily but for some reason he didn't. 

Sure I got disciplined but he was always fair. It was always to help me and never about him. I'm sorry for being such a hand full, he was a good man I really miss him.

(pictures AI Generated by Grok)

four hundred twenty seven

Why is the future of cycling so ugly?

I know everything changes but for 200 years bicycles have been man powered.  Motorcycles are technically bicycles but they have evolved into a category of their own. The latest bicycle mutation is battery power but it has turned into a real freak show. 

Human powered bicycles have evolved over the 200 years. Wheel size and tire width, shifting systems, drive trains, brakes, handle bar shapes, seats and building material, but the one thing that has never changed is that human power is what makes them go. 

To make a human powered bicycle better you must focus on lighter, faster, rider position and aerodynamics. Bicycling was a very physical activity 

If you add battery power the tires can be fat, the bike can be heavy and wind resistance is of no concern. I know it is function over beauty but why try to be dorky and ugly? One company could do this for a niche market but all of them? 

These new designs may have been inspired by the US Postal Service. Not the USA Lance Armstrong team sponsor kind but the "rain sleet or snow" kind. One interesting twist; the new electric bike designs make "Boomer snow birds" look cool again.

I am still a stubborn purest, I like my human powered bicycle. It started when we were young and was part of our culture. Turning the cranks with our legs became a competition. Climbing the local hill and getting off to push was embarrassment. 

We jumped ramps, raced on cinder streets, never wore a helmet (if the even made them), went on all day adventures, delivered news papers  and ran errands. We rode them to school, across town or to our favorite swimming spot on a neighbors farm, it was freedom and it was free as long as you had air in the tires. 

The bikes were heavy and bullet proof. They were usually "hand me downs" from and older sibling, painted with house paint and never stolen. A kid without a bicycle was really missing out on summer.

I believe electric bicycles are here to stay. They are easy to ride, just twist and go. I'm all for easy but easy brings a new type of rider. They may have little or no experience riding a bicycle. They can easily reach higher speeds then traditional bicycles. They are heavier so they don't maneuver or stop as well. 

Cyclists with experience realize how dangerous riding in traffic can be. The new rider comes on the scene and assume they can be seen and have the right of way. They easily go faster then a traditional bicycle so cars misjudge their speed.

I hate seeing kids on electric bikes in traffic. Traffic is dangerous enough to risk your own safety but little kids in plastic helmets are really at risk. Ride in the quiet neighborhood streets or parks but stay out of city traffic.

Cars get dents, cyclists human powered or battery powered get broken bones or worse. My respect for cars and trucks comes from many years of trial and error. No big crashes but many close calls, only a few were my fault. 

I know the thought of having a magic button to push to help me over the next hill will haunt me but I'll stick with my human powered bicycle "Walter". 

four hundred twenty six

 I want to do it one more time....

The original purpose of this blog was to document my bicycle adventures. Over the years it has become a free flow of random subjects and thoughts. 

However the road is still calling. Everyday I walk past "Walter" my touring bicycle and dream about one more long coast to coast journey. I have not been riding regularly for years now but Walter sits with new tires, new chain, brake pads, new handle bar wrap and a few moderations. My camping gear has a few upgrades too, new tent, camp stove, sleeping pad and sleeping bag. 

The years have passed but there hasn't been the time. The dream is as strong as ever but I wonder if my body can still deliver.

Tomorrow I will turn 75. I have had a knee replacement but my other knee has some issues. My back was x-rayed lately and there was no damage but they did note "age related changes" which means I have an old man's back plus some arthritic. The only cure for arthritic is to keep moving so my morning ritual is to wait a half hour to an hour for my parts to start working.

I do have high blood pressure but it is controlled. I recently had a heart treadmill  stress test and my pipes are not clogged. I got the green light on unrestricted activity.

I still get that "you look good for your age". I would rather they stop at "you look good" but I know I think younger then a lot of young guys.  

My two coast to coast rides took two months but I don't have a time limit other then the seasons. Leaving in early spring and returning in the fall would give me four solid months. 

The haunting question I have is; will I get better as I ride day after day, week after week, or will my body break down? Before in my fifties I got tougher everyday. My body got leaner and meaner as I pounded out the miles. I could eat anything, sleep anywhere and ride in any weather. I had a few nagging issues but I worked around them. 

At 75 I should take it easy and start slower with fewer miles and more hotels. Rest days just made me anxious before even though I probably needed it. I was always afraid my body would just lock up if I stopped.

They say all sports are at least 50% mental, I agree. To take on a long trip with my body doing two things, one I do not recover as quickly so I need rest, good nutrition and proper sleep and two my body does not process oxygen the same. However I am very stubborn which comes with age, I'm banking that's enough. 

Why on earth would a 75 year old man want to do a solo trip on a peddle bicycle through mountain passes, deserts and busy cities? I still want to see what is over the horizon and around the next turn. I want to kill off a few more of my preconceived notions about people and places. 

I could do it for attention, ego or a cause. I will admit there might be a little personal ego but I try to minimize the attention. A few people know what I have done but they get more excited about what I did then I do. 

I think I have written enough to make a decision. It isn't a decision I'm making now it is one I made years ago. I doubt I could ever completely relax if I don't answer this question. 

I may be successful or It may be a failure but it needs to be done. I've thought about a few short trips but it just isn't the same. Like I said before at the end of the trip I'll either be a broken man or a bad ass. I'm leaning toward an old geezer bad ass. 

No matter how it plays out I will know the answer. Then I can finally be home and be relaxed. The wandering has been part of the journey to find my place, the place where I fit. I don't have to search anymore I know exactly where my place is. 

I'll write more about this in the future. Drop a comment if you want to cheer me on or call me an old fool. Either way I would love to hear from you.

(My back up plan is my motorcycle.)

four hundred twenty five

All American Drive Thru Coffee

 

These small businesses are now through out the country but the first time I saw one was on my first bicycle ride through the Pacific North West.  As I rode from town to town I started seeing these little buildings along the highway and in dozens of shopping plaza parking lots. They didn't seem to be part of a corporate chain or a franchise, they were independent local businesses. 

There were some with long lines and some that were quiet. At each one I was greeted by one or two smiling young women. Back then they serve up a double shot of espresso for only a dollar. These blasts of peddling fuel helped me keep a faster pace all of the way to the Canadian border.

 

I marveled at the genius of the building design not only for the efficiency but for the view. I'm older but I'm still breathing so the sight of a pretty girl from all angles brightens my day. 

As they work one window they provide a pleasant view for the waiting customers on the opposite side. I personally don't ogle but I do glance. Their uniforms ranged from well fitting jeans to Daisy Duke short shorts, this helps the tip jars overflow I'm sure. 

There isn't a lot of coffee grown in America other than Hawaii but Americans do love their morning coffee. America may not have the most sophisticated coffee but we do put our unique spin on making it and selling it.

The efficiency of these tiny buildings and the thought that goes into measuring the height of a pickup truck window to provide a proper view is very creative.

Some of these embrace good old capitalism and make a few bucks with a little "T"and"A". If a construction worker on his way to work drops a five in the tip jar instead of a one because he gets his morning coffee and a smile from a pretty girl God Bless America.

I absolutely love seeing these small independent businesses springing up just about everywhere.  The corporate chains will always have a blue hair nose ring Barista ready to serve you burned coffee. Why not take a chance on an independent local business. 

Yes there are male Baristas and bikinis aren't required but a pleasant smile and a coffee drink to start or end your day is well worth the detour.

four hundred twenty four

COVETING

Coveting means having a strong but wrong desire to have something that belongs to someone else. It comes from a place of discontent with what you own and a greedy focus on another person's possessions or life. Unfortunately this negative trait has become a socially acceptable virtue.

The Occupy Wall Street movement was the first I can remember that believed targeting people of wealth was a good thing. People have always complained but this was the first time there were actual physical threats and violence. 

The most disturbing to me was the open approval from politicians and the media. Condemnation of this behavior was not to be found. Coveting or jealousy was never mentioned in any reporting or commentary. The negative focus was on the people with the wealth not those who were threatening violence against them.

The wealthy do have a responsibility to follow the law and be descent human beings, most do but some don't. This does not justify judging them all as greedy and corrupt and certainly does not justify more greed, corruption and violence. 

However as attitudes kept shifting almost every new movement was focused on the unfairness of the system and greed. As time went on politicians campaigned openly about not only the unfairness but the actual confiscation of wealth through taxes and the taking of property and businesses. 

Until today I have not heard one mention of the negative effects of coveting. They openly divide people by wealth, poverty, skin color, gender, location, education, religion, politics, legal status, ethnic background, sexual orientation and so on.

All of these have virtuous messaging but the underlying purpose was to divide, create jealousy and stir hatred. Coveting destroys personal peace by breeding deep discontentment, devalues other people, and acts as a hidden root that drives destructive behavior like theft, betrayal, and dishonesty.

I sometimes hear the question "How could the German people support the holocaust?" A look back through history tells us, it started with coveting. Nazi leaders spoke a similar message that the Jews should get what they deserve because they have too much wealth and the way they got it was they stole it from you. Therefore we can take it and punish them for having it. Eventually they were dehumanized which opened the door for unspeakable acts of torture and murder.  

Today charismatic political leaders spur this behavior on by catering to our  lower human natures. They justify discontent jealousy and hatred. They put blame for their problems on other groups or individuals.

Before the first broken window of Kristallnacht there was coveting. For many years America has moved far beyond broken windows. 

BLM riots summer of 2020

Rampant shop lifting and looting in most major US cities.

Admitted Murderer of UnitedHealthCare CEO Brian Thompson 

( many people praised the murderer )

I could go on and on pointing out these things but turn on the TV or scroll the internet the examples are everywhere. What strikes me the most is the lack of a message of basic decency and common sense. We

teach our children not to be jealous, or do we? 

We have been on a slippery slope for decades. There are many factors that attribute to this the lack of a of guilt, coveting is only one.

What was unheard of decades ago became tolerated then encouraged. Today there is a full throated call for actions and absolutely no condemnation or word of caution. I'm not sure where this ends but our savior is not a political party, a charismatic leader, a new law or program it begins and ends in the human heart. 

The news by nature reports the bad not the good. The media simply amplifies these negative messages and thrives on division. It is easy to destroy and divide but it takes God to heal, I will not sign on to hopelessness and despair God still controls our destiny and I think He has a lot more for us to do. Revival comes in dark times and will happen in secret.

four hundred twenty three

 Emergency Room Triage

Triage is the clinical process of sorting patients based on their medical urgency to maximize survival rates and use limited resources efficiently.

Sorting through the spectrum of illnesses and injuries is a tough job. Day after day, night after night there can be sick children, injured athletes, serious auto and motorcycle accidents, heart attacks, strokes, bleeding wounds, life threatening allergic reactions and so on. 

On the other hand there are people using the emergency room as their family doctor, drama queen hypochondriacs, drug seekers, the mentally ill homeless and so on. 

The stress level is high but patience is low. People are in pain, anxious, fearful but mostly bored. Our average trip to the emergency room tests and all has been five or so hours. This small hospital is the only trauma center in central Oregon. Helicopter Life Flights fly directly over our house day and night and usually get front of the line treatment, but if you are a walk in and are stable you can be waiting longer.

The usual first come first serve rules do not apply in an emergency room. This seems to be beyond some peoples' sense of reason and fairness. A sprained wrist vs a heart attack, seasonal flu vs a severed hand is different than a place in line at the bank or grocery store check out. Some people understand and just grin and bear it but some get angry and complain. 

The chaos becomes second nature to the staff, but at times their patience wears thin. Being bored with the usual cuts sprains and fevers one minute and a minute later they may face an overwhelming life threatening event or a DOA. They probably never see a normal shift if there is such a thing so over time it takes a toll. If in the midst of the chaos they ask an impatient question or give a short and maybe rude  response I understand.

Over the years I've spent many hours in the Bend Emergency Room  a with patient and as a patient. I find a busy ER is an excellent people watching spot. The drug seekers are the most fun to watch because as soon as a nurse or doctor passes by they flop faster then a professional soccer player. The cringed look on their face and posture of chronic pain is entertaining. 

Entitled Kens and Karens march to the desk each time they take a patient that arrived after them sighting unfairness and giving their best suffering face, if you have children you know that face.

The couple being held by the police are arguing at alcohol volume as they wait for stitches. The worried mother holding her new born baby while her hyperactive son bounces around the waiting room with a broken arm waiting for stitches, an x-ray and a cast. 

Every patient face tells a story, even the nurses, doctors and aids as they rush by, some ignore and some smile. 

I believe an emergency room is in an alternate universe or dimension. All sense of time is distorted one side never having enough time while the other is experiencing a complete time stand still. 

I've been on both ends of the spectrum, the dehydrated stubborn athlete who never drinks enough water to the guy with a severed artery with his arm wrapped in a towel. Each time when I was  called I got the "Why are they taking you before me?" look.

Mostly I'm the guy who just sits and watches people. I'm already sick or injured I'll get in when I get in. Getting angry and frustrated is pointless so I try to make the staff smile and thank them, even the cleaning crew. No matter what I do my visit doesn't go any faster or slower. 

I want to thank the emergency room staff in Bend or anywhere people do this work. I understand they can grow numb to the things they witness. To cope with this they seem to all develop a dark humor. 

Keeping a straight face while some poor soul tells that age old story, "I accidentally fell on a cucumber in the garden" or whatever it is they can't retrieve from their rectum. As they dig into the problem I imagine the staff share a private chuckle but on the triage scale it's probably not life threatening, just really uncomfortable. I imagine he will be sitting on that hard plastic chair for just a little longer. 

Another fine example to illustrate the theory of time relativity. Time is relative to which side of the emergency waiting room door you are on.