Today Changing Batteries ...

Several months ago, I found myself in a housing snafu. My previous residence ... a small rental cottage that I'd been happily ensconsed in for a few years ... had been sold by its owner, so I needed to relocate. I had ample time to make the move, but not once but three times I secured a new abode only to see the arrangements unravel before my eyes at the "eleventh hour."

Luckily, I had an older aunt and uncle ... relatives from my mom's side of the family, real characters in their late sixties ... who offered me a place to crash while my life sorted itself out. The whole thing worked out fine, but my aging kin came to rely on me for my willingness to help out and do odd jobs around their sturdy-but-dated home.

So today, I received a somewhat frantic call from my aunt ... the actual blood relative. "That darn smoke detector our son bought us is making an awful racket, dear. Dad (my uncle) says it's the batteries. Could you be a sweetie and come check it for me? You're so good with those things and that chirping is getting on my last nerve!!"

For anyone who has read any of my previous blog postings, you know that my aunt's predicament created a unique personal flashpoint for me. I have a thing about being prepared for energencies ... almost an obsession but just shy of needing therapy. On one hand, I have caches of the oddest items stored away ... I have enough Band-Aids for a third-world skirmish. And a shutdown of production facilities for toothbrushes, dishwashing detergent, ball point pens, deodorant, or toilet paper would not affect me for at least eight months! Same goes for Ramen noodles and instant potatoes.

Then there's that pesky "other hand" ... the one that belongs to a man with a near-phobic reaction to just seeing a ladder and an intellectual understanding of what a four- or five-foot fall can potentially do to the human body.

But in the end, I quickly agreed to be at my aunt's house right after work. After all, she and her husband had been so kind to me during a turmultuous time in my life and any chance to repay a little of that generosity was worth a little queasy stomach. And ... she was promising pie!!

When I arrived, I said a quick "hello" to the pair and retrieved their assassin-in-disguise step ladder from the attached garage. It was no big deal to swap out the batteries for fresh ones I purchased on the ride over. Everything seemed "ready to rock" but I told my aunt and uncle that I wanted to double check the situation. First, I took the "old" batteries and popped them into a little drink mixer gadget I had bought for my uncle to help him blend the fiber concoction he drinksevery morning. The small whip-like appliance whirred to life ... the supposedly-defunct power cells seemed fine. Next, I grabbed a small piece of newspaper and a pack of matches from a utility drawer. Digging deep for my "inner man," I remounted the ladder. Once steadied, I rolled the newsprint into a tapered "candle," lit one end, and held it under the slightly dusty, "green for go" detector unit. Five seconds ... nothing. Ten seconds ... nada on the blood-curdling siren I was expecting. Twenty seconds ... zilch! The smoke alarm was completely non-functional.

I shared my discovery with my older relatives after stowing away the ladder, giving it a quick "I cheated death ... HAH!" smirk. My aunt seemed excited, immediately planning a "trip to town" for a replacement like it was a week in Dollywood. My uncle muttered his reply ... something that included the word "figures" and the phrase "damn Japs!" ... before returning his attention to the TV set.

My aunt insisted that I stay for a bowl of soup and the promised slice of pie. I agreed and went to wash up. I knew it would be several minutes before supper commenced, so I did a little snooping around the house, my eyes trained on safety "infractions" and simple ways that my dear relations might avoid injuries and mishaps.

At the table, I was presented with my aunt's awesome vegetable soup, thick with sliced potatoes and chucks of roast. Damn, my Mom's family can cook, I thought as I took my first bite. As we all supped, I interjected my "findings" into the general dinner-time dialogue. I also included some good-but-startling statistics to emphasize the point of the discussion. Based on a 10-year study conducted by the United States Fire Administration (USFA), I told them over soup and warm rye bread for dipping, more than 397,000 housefires occur in the U.S. each year. These conflagrations cause more than 3,000 deaths and nearly 15,000 injuries annually.

"Most people think that housefires are started by careless smokers or unruly kids playing with matches," I told my aunt, the more receptive of my two fellow diners, "but that's more of a myth." While these stereotypical scenarios do pose obvious dangers, smoking-related fires account for less than 2 percent of U.S. housefire incidents. Leading causes include cooking mishaps (26.4 percent), malfunctioning furnaces and heating units (11.4 percent), and candles and decorative lighting left unattended (5.4 percent).

Between bites and buttering the dark, earthy bread, I tried to gauge my relatives' reactions. For the most part, they seemed unconcerned. "Look," I added. "The Fire Administration has some pretty simple ideas to keep people safe and ready. They suggest having a good smoke detector at common 'hot spots' like the kitchen, garage, and the basement or utility area near heating equipment. And I think for you guys one more upstairs wouldn't hurt. You can find a decent unit for $20 or less."

I could see my aunt stressing ... probably imagining four little monitors ganging up on her with their "low battery" screeches all going off at the same time. And my uncle's brow was furrowedas I spoke, more than likely doing the math on the cost of four smoke detectors. I figured What the hell, so I plugged away and added my "two cents" about adding fire extinguishers and carbon monoxide detectors to the safety plan. USFA suggested locating fire extinguishers in the same "caution areas" ... kitchens near the stove, garages near tools and work tables, and basements near the furnace.

A combination extinguisher is what I have at my apartment, I told them. It has an A-B-C designation, meaning it's effective on ordinary combustables (wood, paper, etc.), flammable liquids (like grease and gasoline), and even small electrical fires. I also shared that the one I have in my kitchen retailed for right around $25. Carbon monoxide detectors ... with suggested placements near bedroom areas and heating equipment ... I estimated at $25 per unit.

"You guys could do it all for under $200 and I'd help you install all the brackets and stuff." The furrowing on Uncle Ed's brow turned menacing and Aunt Gloria actually dropped her spoon when hearing the dollar amount for my suggested expenditure, but before I lost any steam I reminded them that a couple hundred dollars was nothing compared to the devastation of losing your house to fire and all the irreplacable belongings like photographs and antiques and collectibles. They nodded solemnly at that.

I also explained that there were competitively-priced services that could come in, evaluate their home, and install more active monitoring for a monthly fee. My uncle looked up at me like I'd started talking Potuguese. "I don't need no Dot-Heads digging through my stuff and then sitting somewhere hoping my house will burn down!" he stated vehemently.

"Dot-Heads?"

"Indian fellows, dear," my aunt said, patting my hand with her liver-spotted one like I was a two-year-old trying to make sense of an adult conversation. "Your uncle thinks they watch our every move." In response, my uncle aggressively crumpled some saltines into his second bowl of soup.

The three of us sat quietly for a few moments. I, too, got a second bowl of my aunt's home-cook masterpiece. Conversation resumed slowly, a trading of stories about family and their misadventures. I laughed and sighed at what I thought were appropriate places, but my mind was buzzing with all the other information I wanted to share. Did they know that home injuries cause over 20,ooo deaths each year, as well as 7 million disabling injuries and more than 20 million hospital trips? Were they aware that falls are the major cause of home injuries and could be safeguarded against by simply tightening banisters and railings, applying non-stick appliques or slip-resistant paint to bathtub and shower floors, basement steps, and garage floors, and purchasing proper types of ladders and step stools? Did my dear aunt and irksome uncle know that a used copy of "First Aid and Safety for Dummies" ... my go-to home bible ... could be acquired on Amazon.com for less than $10 (plus shipping)? And could they PLEASE shell out a little money each winter and let Timmy Miers up the street shovel their walk and driveway so their property wasn't a slushy deathtrap?

Okay ... over cherry pie (mine's much better) and coffee, I finally reached my limit. I begged my uncle to let me buy two goofy lunch boxes and help him assemble an emergency tool kit and a first aid kit out of stuff they already had. Secretly, I knew that I'd be augmenting the project with some extra items like a "crank" flashlight/radio, some "liquid" bandage, hydrogen peroxide, a few extra fuses and light bulbs, hand sanitizer, and anything else that caught my eye.

I turned to my aunt and queried her about finding some extra blankets and storing them in a tote in their basement with a few cans of soup and vegetables like peas and corn ... things that can be heated on a grill or eaten cold if need be ... plus a pot, a can opener, and maybe some jerky. We lived in Ohio, I reminded them, and tornado season makes the basement an important location.

"And bottled water ... you should but a case of Aquafina or Dasani down there too for emergencies."

My uncle stopped short of his mouth with a forkful of flaky pie. "Dasani?," he said with a sneer, "that sounds Italian (pronounced Eye-talian) ... I don't much care for Italians."

POINT OF RANT: My uncle really isn't a nice man.

Today In The Reference Section ...

My one nephew, Jake, has a big report due on a famous figure from history. He chose Abraham Lincoln. Over lunch at his house, I asked the innocent 11-year-old why "Honest Abe" intrigued him. "Because he got shot!" was his reply. Over cheese pizza ... this family wouldn't know a salad or a fruit plate if it knocked on their door and asked to use the phone ... I discovered that Jake still had a little over a week until his report was due but he hadn't even started it. His Mom, my sister, was going to print a bunch of stuff off the Internet at work "in a few days."

I have a problem with our cookie-cutter, Wikipedia-wrought world sometimes, so I asked Jake if he wanted to run and get ice cream ... just him and me. He was ecstatic. His happy mood faded quickly when we pulled into the parking lot of the library 20 minutes later. Jake turned sullen and then oddly awed as we entered the main lobby. I know he's at least "visited" his school library but he'd probably never been to this main branch of the public system downtown. It's huge. Busy. Serious.

We found the reference section and a nice lady helped us locate four really great books. Jake's mood definitely brightened when we discovered some interesting facts about Mr. Lincoln. Not only was he the 16th U.S. president and the first Republican to hold the office, but he was also born in Kentucky and raised in Indiana ... both just one state away. And while everyone knows he helped move the U.S. toward an end to slavery and brokered the conclusion of the only major war in history where Americans were fighting Americans, Abraham Lincoln is also one of the few presidents with no middle name and he accomplished his goals with less than 18 months of formal education. And Jake thought it was a hoot that some places ... like train cars and a few hotels ... had to build special beds to accommodate Lincoln's 6'4" frame.

Jake and I photocopied several pages of information and borrowed a highlighter from the same librarian to mark the good things we found. I even "bankrolled" a few color copies of pictures he might use in his report. And on the ride back out of the city, Jake was even considering wearing a "beard" and stovepipe hat for the oral presentation portion of his assignment and was going to see if his Dad could build him some "mini-stilts" out of scrap wood to look taller. I agreed to work with him next weekend on memorizing part of the Gettysburg Address ... "four score" and what not. He was really getting into the spirit of learning!

When we arrived back at my sister's residence, I didn't go in. My self-preservation instinct is strongest around Jake's mom. And she was not gonna like Jake all enthusiastic about school and wanting to get to work. Plain and simple, my sister has always been a procrastinator and an enabler with her children ... and I try not to be. All of us kids were raised in the same way in the same house by the same people, but I think by being the only "girl" my sister got away with a great many things.

A prime example of her "slacker" ways is "The Great Leaf Project." Since the dawn of time, our high school's freshman biology class has required each student to assemble a collection of leaf specimens from area trees and present them in a photo album or some type of "book." Each leaf included in the project must be properly identified. To aid in this, students are given these cool books that, by answering simple questions about leaf color, shape, texture, vein structure, etc., help identify the proper phylum. Overall, the more properly-identified leaves a project contains, the higher the grade it receives.

Like everyone else, my sister had six weeks ... SIX WEEKS! ... to do this. And she waited until the last minute and "boo-hooed" around the house until my parents drove her around and helped her collect a smattering of leaves. I remember the weekend before her project was due ... the kitchen table was off-limits to everyone but my sister and my Mom. We ate our meals on TV trays in the living room. In the end, my sister had 30 leaves. My mother had found some leaf stickers and thought maybe my sister could dress her project up a little. "Use them sparingly," my Mom cautioned, "they're pretty colorful." My sister put those stickers everywhere. It was a mess! My sister earned a "C-" and complained that the grade was low because the teacher didn't like her.

My slightly-older brother had the same project when he entered high school. I helped him find some of his leaves because he is actually a decent sibling. And my brother is pretty clever ... right away he went to a local floral shop owned by a family friend and got them to sell him a can of this preservative spray that really kept his leaf samples pristine and colorful. It was like protective shrink wrap for plants. His specimens looked great, and when he organized them he also alphabetized them and added the location where the "donor" tree was located.

And for a final flourish, my brother begged my father to take him to an arboretum about an hour away. The trip netted him five exotic leaves. He ended up with 58 leaves and a "B+" ... two measly points away from an "A-." Damn the high school grading scale!

When my turn rolled around, I hit the ground running. That first weekend I had 20 leaves stacked and "starched" with the same pecial spray my brother had employed. Likewise, I guilted my father into making the same arboretum trip and walked and walked until we had eight specimens to add to my leaf count. And during that first week, my Mom helped me phone friends and family we had in California, Florida, Arkansas, and Tennessee. I explained my project to them and over the following two weeks I received big, overstuffed envelopes containing out-of-state samples ... nine in all ... of sequoias, hemlocks, red junipers, Spanish moss, several citrus trees, and even a redwood. These I placed in the back of my "book" with a map noting their home locations and a little block of text explaining how I had purloined them.

With two weeks to go before my "due date," I spent some time detailing my project. I went back and took some photos of a few trees and included them on pages where I had the most room. I added scientific names to many of my samples like "Ginkgo biloba" and "Acer saccharum." I also alphabetized my samples and added "addresses" like my brother had. My final "touch" was decorating the cover with a poem that my great grandmother wrote about leaves and had published in 1959. I reproduced the poem in the simple shape of a leaf. I thought it was very artistic, and so did my instructor. Out of a possible 100 points, I earned 98 ... and the teacher wanted to keep my project as an example to show future classes. I politely declined her request.

I bring this all up because I see my sister passing her "tendencies" to her children. One time, my niece ... also my sister's kid, of course ... was given a project where she had to create a series of flash cards to help younger children learn common Spanish words. Each student was required to work with a list of 20 words and produce 40 cards in all ... one "basic" flash card with the word in Spanish on the front and its English equivalent on the reverse, and then a second card exactly like the first but with little icons or graphics to prompt recall. The assignment was due in three weeks, and my niece received what I thought were pretty simple words like "cake" and "forest" and "school" and "picnic" and "bulldozer." Hell, the teacher even supplied the card stock with a generous amount of extras to offset any "flubs."

Two days before the cards needed to be turned in, my sister called in "sick" and made every stinking card. My niece had put it off and put it off until my sister just decided it was easier to create them herself. She even had me e-mail her some clip art images ... I was unaware I was "aiding and abetting" until much later. My niece "earned" an undeserved "A" and a compliment from her teacher for all her extra hard work ... she had actually turned in cards for 25 words.

Now, I'm not a tyrant. Parents ... and uncles ... can and should help young people with their academic studies. But when I say "help," I mean "aid" or "guide" or "clarify" ... not "do" or "take over" or "complete." I remember being 11 ... exactly like Jake ... and my class was studying Native American tribes. We were placed in teams of four and I volunteered to construct a scale model of a wigwam. I asked my father ... a man who could make a tree fort out of a pile of sawdust ... for help. First, he had me find several pictures of what I hoped the model would look like. Once assembled, we sat down and he tried to explain why some things would be easy to do and others not so much. Then we went over the tools and materials I'd be needing and looked to see what wasn't available in my Dad's workshop. At this point, with him watching closely, I built a wigwam. He gave advice but it was me doing about 80 percent of the work. My percentage probably would have been higher but early on a sliced into my thumb badly. We discovered I was quite a bleeder and Dad took over all "cutting" activities from that point on.

And I will concede that my father did provide a few very cool elements to my primitive dwelling. He worked with a guy who hunted and trapped and did all that "outdoorsy" stuff. His friend gave me some scraps of pelt ... rabbit and squirrel, I think ... and I used them throughout the model. My father also helped me install a little light inside the structure so it looked like a small fire. My wigwam was outstanding and my team received high marks. And I earned a "wigwam scar" that remains to this day as a reminder of the merits of hard work.

POINT OF RANT: When using a knife, always cut away from yourself ... especially if you want a matching set of functional thumbs!!