20 April 2006
A lark adventure - part one
Somehow I managed to double post this. Sorry about that, move along now.
A lark adventure - part one
IronAngel Forge
There is a lot to write, but this is just a quick note. On a lark, the wife and I took a quick trip down to Lansing to attend a book signing with an author that the wife has recently begun reading. I not being much of a fiction reader simply went along to enjoy my wife's company, and watch her joy.
I was more than pleasantly surprised to discover that the other attendees at the signing were a fun group, and that the author herself was a hoot. The evening wore on pleasantly, and after a fun question and answer session, the book signing began. We are patient people, and waited til last.
The rest will have to wait for a later post, as there is much fun to write, as well as a bit of a teaser about another project in the shop.
Stay tuned!
There is a lot to write, but this is just a quick note. On a lark, the wife and I took a quick trip down to Lansing to attend a book signing with an author that the wife has recently begun reading. I not being much of a fiction reader simply went along to enjoy my wife's company, and watch her joy.
I was more than pleasantly surprised to discover that the other attendees at the signing were a fun group, and that the author herself was a hoot. The evening wore on pleasantly, and after a fun question and answer session, the book signing began. We are patient people, and waited til last.
The rest will have to wait for a later post, as there is much fun to write, as well as a bit of a teaser about another project in the shop.
Stay tuned!
05 April 2006
Getting things done
J. P. W. Griswold
Well, we are still working on getting things done, as always. Orders are filling up quickly, and we are as busy as we usually are much later in the summer already at the first of April.
More to come.
Well, we are still working on getting things done, as always. Orders are filling up quickly, and we are as busy as we usually are much later in the summer already at the first of April.
More to come.
25 March 2006
A hard night
C.J. Griswold
From C. J. Griswold, Wife of the Blacksmith, and his keeper:
I don’t have a blog, and I don’t post much on the internet. I used to work at an ISP and did all the tech geeky stuff, now I pretty much use the internet for shopping and keeping up with my favorite authors.
I now work at a 911 police dispatch center. My job is the basis for this entry.
Today, for the first time in two and a half years, I learned to hate my job.
Now, before you start thinking, ‘Oh, just another disgruntled worker bitching about her job and how unfair it is’ hear me out…
Today, I had to listen to a friend and co-worker kill himself.
I’m not going to go into gory details, I honestly have no desire to type out the play by play. The Reader’s Digest version of ‘How I Learned to Hate My Job’ is all I’m willing to share.
Sunday nights are usually pretty laid back. People tend to be getting ready to go back to their daily grind, school, work, whatever. Sunday is a nice night to ease down from a long three day work weekend.
This morning, at about 4:00 am, one of our off duty officers called us and told us he was going to kill himself. He had his issued weapons in his vehicle with him and he, in his words, felt he was out of options. He was calling from a cell phone so we were pretty much unable to find him and he wouldn’t tell us where he was. All he wanted was for his last words to be on a taped line. He wanted his beneficiaries to know he was sorry and that everything would be left to them. He kept saying he didn’t want to hurt anyone else, just himself.
Well, needless to say, our dispatch center (Four of us working at the time) went into high alert. Nothing like a crisis to bring people together. We sent out area broadcasts and contacted the counties surrounding us. We sent police officers to his house, and the houses of people he was close to. We had a pretty good vehicle description and broadcast it to everyone in our county. We held all non-emergency calls and basically initiated a manhunt for our friend and co-worker.
Needless to say we found him. When we did he, in short, freaked.
I was answering phones at the time, and took his panicked and somewhat erratic call. I did all I could to keep him on the line (he kept hanging up on us) and try to calm him down. I was shaking so badly that I couldn’t type, so I just kept repeating what he said so that my co-worker behind me could advise the pursuing officers. I told him how much we all cared for him, that his fellow officers were there to help him, were worried about him.
No matter what I said, he wouldn’t stop.
His command officer came up to dispatch to talk with him. I handed over my headset with shaky hands and fought off wave after wave of panic and tears. Survive first, then panic. Panic never helps anyone in an emergency situation.
The officers in our county did not pursue him (as in lights and sirens stop this guy). They just followed at a safe distance, worried for him as we worried, wanting him to stop so they could help him.
He eventually made his way to a county adjoining ours. A county where the deputies knew nothing about this armed man other than that he may endanger their officers and their residents. He began to drive erratically, swerving into oncoming traffic at high rates of speed. The deputies had to stop him. I know they did. It doesn’t make the end result any easier to bear.
With his command officer still on the phone, and all of his friends and co-workers at dispatch listening in, he made one last plea for the deputies to stand down.
They did not, and a good man, friend, and police officer ended his life with the weapon he had used to serve and protect. It devastated all of us, his friends and co-workers at dispatch and in the field.
I’m not sure there is a moral to this story; there is certainly no silver lining that I can see. He is gone. He will never again come to see us, armed with a pizza and a smile. Never again call on duty with a laugh and a friendly quip. He succumbed to the feelings of despair and sadness that were in him, and passed them along to us with his dying breath.
So, maybe this, like all suicide stories, does have a moral. Think before you act. Your actions never affect only yourself. It is rarely as bad as it seems at the time. And even if you don’t know it, there are people there for you. If nothing else, there is always a soul at the receiving end of a 911 call. We may not be the person to give you answers, but we can send you help. And never think we don’t care. Never think your actions affect no one, because they always affect us.
From C. J. Griswold, Wife of the Blacksmith, and his keeper:
I don’t have a blog, and I don’t post much on the internet. I used to work at an ISP and did all the tech geeky stuff, now I pretty much use the internet for shopping and keeping up with my favorite authors.
I now work at a 911 police dispatch center. My job is the basis for this entry.
Today, for the first time in two and a half years, I learned to hate my job.
Now, before you start thinking, ‘Oh, just another disgruntled worker bitching about her job and how unfair it is’ hear me out…
Today, I had to listen to a friend and co-worker kill himself.
I’m not going to go into gory details, I honestly have no desire to type out the play by play. The Reader’s Digest version of ‘How I Learned to Hate My Job’ is all I’m willing to share.
Sunday nights are usually pretty laid back. People tend to be getting ready to go back to their daily grind, school, work, whatever. Sunday is a nice night to ease down from a long three day work weekend.
This morning, at about 4:00 am, one of our off duty officers called us and told us he was going to kill himself. He had his issued weapons in his vehicle with him and he, in his words, felt he was out of options. He was calling from a cell phone so we were pretty much unable to find him and he wouldn’t tell us where he was. All he wanted was for his last words to be on a taped line. He wanted his beneficiaries to know he was sorry and that everything would be left to them. He kept saying he didn’t want to hurt anyone else, just himself.
Well, needless to say, our dispatch center (Four of us working at the time) went into high alert. Nothing like a crisis to bring people together. We sent out area broadcasts and contacted the counties surrounding us. We sent police officers to his house, and the houses of people he was close to. We had a pretty good vehicle description and broadcast it to everyone in our county. We held all non-emergency calls and basically initiated a manhunt for our friend and co-worker.
Needless to say we found him. When we did he, in short, freaked.
I was answering phones at the time, and took his panicked and somewhat erratic call. I did all I could to keep him on the line (he kept hanging up on us) and try to calm him down. I was shaking so badly that I couldn’t type, so I just kept repeating what he said so that my co-worker behind me could advise the pursuing officers. I told him how much we all cared for him, that his fellow officers were there to help him, were worried about him.
No matter what I said, he wouldn’t stop.
His command officer came up to dispatch to talk with him. I handed over my headset with shaky hands and fought off wave after wave of panic and tears. Survive first, then panic. Panic never helps anyone in an emergency situation.
The officers in our county did not pursue him (as in lights and sirens stop this guy). They just followed at a safe distance, worried for him as we worried, wanting him to stop so they could help him.
He eventually made his way to a county adjoining ours. A county where the deputies knew nothing about this armed man other than that he may endanger their officers and their residents. He began to drive erratically, swerving into oncoming traffic at high rates of speed. The deputies had to stop him. I know they did. It doesn’t make the end result any easier to bear.
With his command officer still on the phone, and all of his friends and co-workers at dispatch listening in, he made one last plea for the deputies to stand down.
They did not, and a good man, friend, and police officer ended his life with the weapon he had used to serve and protect. It devastated all of us, his friends and co-workers at dispatch and in the field.
I’m not sure there is a moral to this story; there is certainly no silver lining that I can see. He is gone. He will never again come to see us, armed with a pizza and a smile. Never again call on duty with a laugh and a friendly quip. He succumbed to the feelings of despair and sadness that were in him, and passed them along to us with his dying breath.
So, maybe this, like all suicide stories, does have a moral. Think before you act. Your actions never affect only yourself. It is rarely as bad as it seems at the time. And even if you don’t know it, there are people there for you. If nothing else, there is always a soul at the receiving end of a 911 call. We may not be the person to give you answers, but we can send you help. And never think we don’t care. Never think your actions affect no one, because they always affect us.
19 March 2006
Secret Project
J. P. W. Griswold
For years I have played guitar and bass for personal entertainment and to relax my hands after working in the forge. The hammer and tongs strain the fingers and forearms quite a bit, and if you do not do something to loosen them up, the next day will be worse.
So, after many nights of work, I pick up the guitar. I've had one around the house for about as long as I can recall. My grandfather played guitar when I was very little, but by the time I have memories, the arthritis in his hands kept him from playing much. I still have that guitar, and many others as well. My wife also had a few acoustic guitars when we were married, and we have purchased another since that wonderful day.
My wife likes me to play as well, even though she is probably a better player than I (my internal meter seems to be off, so my phrasing is sometimes choppy - hers is much better, as is her voice). But it makes her happy, so I try to learn new songs she likes, and play things she likes. It has expanded my ability, and playing on a steel string acoustic is not as forgiving as a steel string electric can be.
Now I've had electrics for many years, getting my first in High School. I have had bass guitars nearly as long, and even played pro for a while as the bass player in a polka band on sundays while little old ladies played bingo. Lately, I have even begun to build a pair of new electrics, both in interesing designs.
Why do I bring this bit of history up? Ah, there is the fun part!
A secret project is perking, rapidly comming to a boil. Recently, we picked up the last few new tools we had needed to complete the home studio. This has finally opened the door to full blown recording once again. I have had the computer to do so for quite some time, and have done some music in the recent past, but with the last few bits we will be able to really do pretty much anything. And the secret project is just the first. Once the first rough tracks are finished, we will put up a link so everyone can hear what we have been up to.
Thanks to my Mom for making the studio possibile sooner that we expected, and always having music around the house, and even tolerating it if I was the one making it!
For years I have played guitar and bass for personal entertainment and to relax my hands after working in the forge. The hammer and tongs strain the fingers and forearms quite a bit, and if you do not do something to loosen them up, the next day will be worse.
So, after many nights of work, I pick up the guitar. I've had one around the house for about as long as I can recall. My grandfather played guitar when I was very little, but by the time I have memories, the arthritis in his hands kept him from playing much. I still have that guitar, and many others as well. My wife also had a few acoustic guitars when we were married, and we have purchased another since that wonderful day.
My wife likes me to play as well, even though she is probably a better player than I (my internal meter seems to be off, so my phrasing is sometimes choppy - hers is much better, as is her voice). But it makes her happy, so I try to learn new songs she likes, and play things she likes. It has expanded my ability, and playing on a steel string acoustic is not as forgiving as a steel string electric can be.
Now I've had electrics for many years, getting my first in High School. I have had bass guitars nearly as long, and even played pro for a while as the bass player in a polka band on sundays while little old ladies played bingo. Lately, I have even begun to build a pair of new electrics, both in interesing designs.
Why do I bring this bit of history up? Ah, there is the fun part!
A secret project is perking, rapidly comming to a boil. Recently, we picked up the last few new tools we had needed to complete the home studio. This has finally opened the door to full blown recording once again. I have had the computer to do so for quite some time, and have done some music in the recent past, but with the last few bits we will be able to really do pretty much anything. And the secret project is just the first. Once the first rough tracks are finished, we will put up a link so everyone can hear what we have been up to.
Thanks to my Mom for making the studio possibile sooner that we expected, and always having music around the house, and even tolerating it if I was the one making it!
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