Today, one of the new employees dropped off a detail check he had completed for me and started asking me (lots) questions about the site we’re working on. “Why do we measure oxidation reduction potential?” he asked.  “It is because of the contamination out there?”

I hate being asked technical questions on the spot, but I slowed my brain down and said, “Well, to my understanding, it’s more of a function of the site geochemistry and tells us whether or not we need to add an oxidant or reductant to clean the site up.”  He nodded, looking impressed, and said, “So it’s based more on the site geochemistry than the contaminants?”  “Yes,” I responded though my brain started guessing itself.  What if it IS a function of the contamination?

So I asked my trusty friend Andres, who works in the same field as I do.  “You’re correct,” he said.  “It can also be a function of the contamination as well, but not so much with organic contaminants.”

“The only constituents at this site are organics!” I replied. “YES!”

For someone constantly second-guessing herself and her technical knowledge, it’s nice to be right sometimes.

I was hesitant to write anything about this, but I decided that I should.

When I moved to this city back in 2008, I was a pretty miserable person for a multitude of reasons, none of which are important now.  I got on a project that required me to drive back and forth from downtown three to four times a week.  At the time, my driving anxiety was significant.  I hated the driving. I was lonely and sad, and missed home all the time.  I considered moving back.

I used to park in a lot outside of a city building, but once I got caught, I finally started parking in the tiny garage next to my downtown office.  All was well until the day I slammed the (good) side of my truck into a concrete barrier.  The incident left me jittery.  It was just one more silly setback that made me want to move back home.  Unsure of where to park, I decided to park at a hotel nearby.

One day as I was walking back to my truck, I saw an older man smoking a cigarette and watching me intently.  “You know you can’t park there,” he said.  Oops. I began to stammer. “But I’ll let you park there,” he said.

We began talking.  His name was Jim, and he worked at the hotel.  For the next several years, Jim let me park at his hotel, when he could have easily let me be towed.  He would even alert me when a special event was coming up so I could get a special parking permit and not be towed.  Allowing me to park at his hotel eased my driving anxiety greatly. I stopped hating my downtown work and began to enjoy it.  Jim was outside often, smoking, and he would talk to me after I was done with work.

I began bringing by cards and cookies to show my gratitude; I didn’t want to take advantage of his kindness.  We began exchanging emails and texts, and before I knew it, I had gained a dear friend.  Jim would call me the daughter I never had.  He gave me great advice when I needed it, and made me chuckle with his stubborn Irish humor and charm.

Jim was no fool – he was whip smart and could figure out a person with one glance.  He could cut straight through the BS and knew what I was feeling without my saying it.  In the past year, he told me he saw a light in my eyes that he never had before.  “You were in a bad place when I first met you,” he told me.  “Now you are happy. And I love it.”

Jim cared deeply for his family and friends and would do anything in his power to help.  He spoke often of his son and his deceased wife, Patty.  Patty clearly was the love of his life and though she had passed fifteen years ago, it was clear that he was still deeply in love with her.

Over the past couple of years, Jim’s health declined. His health started deteriorating significantly in the past six to nine months. I remained in denial.  He would get better, just like he always had in the past.  When I visited him several weeks ago, after Apollo’s puppy school graduation, Jim warned me that it may be the last time I would ever see him.  He was right, but I didn’t believe him.  I still thought he had time.

I pulled up to the hospice this afternoon after work to drop off a card and some goodies.  His son had warned us that his health had taken a turn for the worse, and I wanted to see Jim at least one last time.  I was very nervous. I had never been to a hospice before, but I knew what being in one meant.  I was worried about how Jim’s condition would be, and if he’d even want to see me.  I knew Jim never liked having visitors while he was sick, and I hoped he wouldn’t be upset that I was visiting.

I walked inside up to the welcome desk and asked the receiving nurse if Jim was up to seeing visitors. I saw her exchange glances with another nurse. My heart started to sink.  The nurse told me that he had just passed away.  I felt like I was in a bad movie or television show.  The plot device of someone passing away just before a friend could see him always had seemed so cliche to me, but now here it was, happening to me.  I hadn’t expected to cry but tears welled in my eyes.  She asked if I wanted to go in and say goodbye, but I was afraid, and I didn’t want to disturb his son.  So I left the bag of goodies on the desk and asked that she deliver it to Jim’s son.  I had started crying. I felt bad when I did because I thought about how the nurses must have felt to have to deliver sad news like that and watch that person break down. I left quickly so that no one else could see me cry, but I don’t think I was successful.

I am doing okay now, though still sad.  His passing wasn’t unexpected, but I still didn’t think it’d be today. Why didn’t I ever get a picture of us together? Why didn’t I see him one last time, before he got really sick?  Why didn’t I have dinner with him?

Jim’s friendship came at a time in my life when I needed it the most.  I learned so much from this humorous, hilarious, humble, and extraordinary man.  I’m so glad to have met him and I’ll never forget him.  I don’t know if there’s anything after life, but if there is, I hope he and Patty are giving each other enormous hugs right now.

I have not forgotten you. I have my mind full of posts I’ve wanted to do for months.  I just have been lazy.

I’m sorry I’ve neglected you, little blog.  I will be back soon, I promise, with more tales of misadventures and music I’ve been obsessed with.

Mandy will be here!

Mandy will be here!

Mandy will be here!

She and her brother, Tony (who I am also very excited to see) will be visiting me in Texas!  I can’t believe they will be here in less than two weeks!

The last time we all hung out, we were in the general admission section of the Wells Fargo Center in Philly, watching Dave Grohl scream his lungs out…what adventures will be in store for us this time?

Apollo is nearly ten months old, and while he has become more independent in many ways, he’s still a puppy.  He goes on what I call the “Puppy Tour of Terror” – opening the trash can with his nose so he can grab discarded chicken wings, chewing up TWO LAPTOP CHARGERS IN A WEEK, and his random meth puppy runs.  I sprayed him with water yesterday to stop him from going in the trash, and he immediately retaliated by pooping on the carpet.  He’s potty-trained, so I don’t know what’s up with that.  Do I not spend enough time with him? I feel like his rampages are equivalent to a teenager stealing her dad’s car.

This weekend, I opened Boyfriend’s front door so I could go outside and get better reception.  It was only when I came back inside and saw his look of shock, accompanied with his tight grip on Apollo’s collar, that I realized that I’d nearly lost our puppy. AGAIN.

So several weeks ago, we were walking Apollo in a park.  All was well. It was a beautiful day, our pup was prancing in the grass, and there were several other puppies frolicking.  They were running around the park without their leashes, unlike Apollo.  We talked to the dogs’ owners, letting our dog play with theirs.  “I can’t take him off his leash,” I explained to the owners.  “He would just take off if I did.” 

As the pups were playing, I noticed Apollo was getting extra squirmy when the larger puppy approached him.  Apollo’s collar was getting really loose. I remarked to Boyfriend that Apollo’s collar looked loose, but I didn’t fix it.  This was a mistake.

Then, before we could process what was happening, Apollo squirmed out of his collar and immediately took off.

I think I blogged before how my family’s dachshund, Harry, had taken off on us when he was a puppy, and how Dad and I hauled ass to catch him.  We couldn’t catch him, and we were decent runners.  But we were on a long, empty beach, so Harry wasn’t in too much danger.

But now we were in a park, right next to a street.  Further down the street was an access road.  I know that dog trainers say the last thing you want to do when your dog gets loose is chase him, because the dog thinks it’s a game.  But how can you override your instincts? I knew that if Apollo ran into the access road, it was over.  And he was showing no signs of slowing down.

I ran after him, allowing myself to be slightly amused when I heard a little boy saying, “Wow, she’s running FAST.”  But it wasn’t good enough. Neither Boyfriend nor I could catch him. My heart sank when Apollo ran into the street. I started mentally preparing myself for the possibility that I would see Apollo get hit by a car.

I looked both ways – miraculously, no cars were approaching.  Apollo ran in the parking lot and ran back out into the street. I was so scared by this point, because I was afraid he’d start running towards the access road.  Then I would be unable to save him.

Thankfully, one of the puppy’s owners started to help us and the three of us cornered Apollo in the middle of the mercifully empty street. Apollo looked confused as Boyfriend scooped him up and held him tightly to his chest.

I adore my dog, but I won’t miss his puppy tours of terror. Not one bit.