A Rant, Then Rest

Hello, all (3 of) my cyberworld friends!!

You doing okay? That's great.

Now let's talk about me.

At 2:00 this morning, I was driving down a dark, dangerous, foggy road in eastern New Mexico with a snoring man in the passenger seat and a semi truck carrying a load of hay flashing his lights on and off at me in my rear view mirror. Well, I exaggerate--the semi driver only flicked his lights once, and that was to let me know I was clear to pull back into the lane after passing him, but still...some serious Stephen King stuff. I'm pretty sure we were just one wrong turn from ending up in a murky forest where a man with a hook for a hand was waiting patiently for us to get a flat tire. Scratch, scratch....

It will relieve your hearts, no doubt, to know that I'm lying in bed now with popcorn, a glass of wine, and a cat, so obviously the above terrifying teaser has a happy ending. I feel compelled to reassure you, as I do so hate leaving anyone in a state of worry, plus I don't plan on really explaining that story so it seems only fair to let you know that it all worked out. (FYI, this is not the rant portion of this blog, merely a stream-of-consciousness that will likely be very unsatisfying in the long run, induced by oh, so very little sleep (reference above paragraph).)

So we'll start with the story of my weekend (which, despite the big lead-in, doesn't really have much of a supporting story), followed by my Big Rant, then off to bed.

You know I'm the big advocate of getting out of the house and experiencing your community. I have a whole blog that I've written (in my head) about small venue concerts. I love 'em. There's nothing better than getting to know the performers you're going to see, and what better way to do that than by sitting two feet from the stage in the company of a small crowd of other equally non-mainstream (read: weird) people? It's supportive in a very personal way and forces you to be present to what you're experiencing, which is kind of nice in these veg-out-in-front-of-the-TV-only-talk-to-your-friends-on-the-computer times. It's also possible to take that intimacy right to the limit.

Friday night the Maxter had, as is his way, bought tickets for a concert but did not tell me for whom. That's okay--I like surprises, and his track record is excellent for homing (honing?) in on the good finds in the city. So off we went, putzing happily down the street until he pulled into a Unitarian Church parking lot. This in itself was not weird, but the fact that there were only three other cars in the parking lot was. You can guess the conversation that followed--are we too early? is it the wrong date?--but ultimately we decided there was only one way to find out.

I will tell you this about small venue performances: once you walk in, there's no discreet walking out if you decide it's just too small for your tastes or maybe you think you walked into the wrong room by mistake. As we approached the glass doors, we could see that there were only a handful of people in there and it was looking suspiciously like a church service. Me, I would have been happy to do a U-turn at that point and spend the evening on the sofa watching a romantic comedy. Max the Intrepid don't put up with that pansy kind of behavior, though (plus he had two tickets waiting at will call, so I guess he was what you might call incentivized), so we just waltzed right in and, after a lengthy three-second search, found two seats near the front.

In total, there were 13 people in the house.

That included the three performers and their spouses. I think five people were good friends of the performers and were just there to support them. So that really just left us.

No pressure, but could you all clap really loud??

We ended up sitting behind one of the performers--all of whom were piano players, by the by--and had a lovely conversation with her before the show started. First of all, she had more hair on her head than I've ever seen on a person. I didn't know it was possible to have hair that was that thick. It was mesmerizing, which made it difficult to fully participate in the talky talk, but that's why Max and I are a team. He talks while I gaze and have important conversations with myself, and sometimes other people, in my head. By the end of the night, not only had we heard three very delightful and diverse performances, but we were also good friends with all the pianists. And their spouses. And their five friends. Tres cool.

There is no moral to this story, it was just a good time and I wanted to let you know all about it. So we're done with that now. It is now time for me to put on my ranting hat (sound of footsteps as I step up to my soapbox). Prepare for a complete change of topic and tone (I'll give you a moment).

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Yesterday the front page of the local newspaper heralded this headline: "Snow Area Tragedy." The article was about a 12-year-old boy who suffered a spinal cord injury while at a nearby snow play area. Before I go any farther, let me say that I have great compassion for this boy and his family, and for what they're facing as a result of an unfortunate accident. My diatribe is not about what happened to him, but about the handling of the incident in the article. It happened at a designated snow play area on the mountain. On site there's a sign that lists rules for playing there, then notes that the area is unsupervised. Unsupervised, in case you didn't catch that the first time around. This poor kid was standing up at the bottom of the hill when another sledder ran into him, knocking him to the ground and, unfortunately, causing a spinal cord injury. In most circumstances, he would have probably just had the wind knocked out of him or suffered a sprained ankle. This time, though, the odds weren't in his favor and he ended up with a big-ticket injury. It sounded to me like the very definition of a horrible accident.

I guess not everyone saw it that way, though. The article was about how, despite the warning that there was no supervision there, someone should have been responsible for protecting the boy from getting hit. Someone should have made sure that every person there was safe every second, that no accidents occurred, that no injury befell anyone, despite the fact that it was a large group of people moving at breakneck speeds down a frozen hill. Who is that someone? Who is this mysterious person who can save us from all our foibles, our momentary distractions that put us in harm's way, or just our bad luck at being in the wrong place at the wrong time? I'd like his number. (I don't know why I would refer to this person as a "him." If ever there were a magic person who could protect us from All Bad Stuff That Ever Existed without so much as breaking a sweat, it would totally be Lynda Carter, and she's a "her." I think.)

There were further complaints that cell phone coverage was spotty, making it difficult to call for help. Folks, it's a mountain. Having perfect, round-the-clock-in-every-location cell phone coverage was not promised in our constitution. It's. a. mountain. Then there were complaints that it took 25 minutes for the EMTs to get there. Folks, it's a mountain. An icy, snow-packed mountain that does not have a city, complete with speedy ambulance service, located at its apex. The reason you go up there to play in the snow is because it's a mountain and it has snow. Playing in the snow comes with risks. It's not necessarily anyone's fault. These things sometimes happen. There isn't always a reason.

Sigh..I sound so curmudgeonly, don't I? I just get frustrated at the human need to find someone else at fault for everything. I believe that bad things sometimes happen, regretfully, things that change our lives and put things forever into 'before' and 'after.' And I don't believe that there's always someone or something to blame.

On the other hand, blame is one of the stages of grieving, isn't it? So maybe it's the most natural thing in the world. In which case, never mind this rant but still POO on the media for contributing their piece.

It are 10:15 and I was going to try to wind this up in a coherent fashion (HA HA HA HA!!) and maybe even circle back around to my opening paragraph, having been trained in the journalistic fashion and all, but now I don't wanna. I'm going to bed, and I wish you all a very good night and the very best of sleep.

(You see this is the problem with just anyone being able to blog these days, they will just carry on to no end.)