Seasonal rebirth.

While winter has not loosened its grip upon several states in the Plains, we have been afforded the grace of the real face of spring here in this portion of New York State. Though the risk of snowfall is still something that looms ever present, as it is not unusual for it to drop even at this time of the year, for now, for these few days, and especially on this day, the unpleasant memory of this past winter has begun to fade.

Daffodils are beginning to poke their heads through the still hardened ground, along with some other plants, of which I cannot identify. Neighbors are starting to come out of hibernation, and kids on bicycles, and playing driveway basketball are making their appearances. The only thing missing so far are the woodchucks, but I'm sure they'll make their appearances soon enough.

Life returns here amongst the organic inhabitants, and just four houses down from me, life also returns to something inorganic, but no less alive. The phoenix begins to rise from the ashes of a November evening last year that could have been worse than it turned out. A family was uprooted, as their house was blown to embers.

They took refuge in an apartment complex that was basically across the road as they planned what to do. Ultimately, they decided to rebuild. They could have just bailed, as all their kids are grown and are out of the house, but they decided that they had too much invested in that home to simply walk away from it, even though it would not be what it once was.

So, this week in the mornings when I would wake up after my late night labors, the sounds of hammers, drills, an other equipment can be heard. They are surgeons doing reconstructive surgery on a patient that would have been otherwise left for dead.

It is skeletal in nature right now, but by the end of the spring, beginning of the summer, it will breathe with life again as the family that was forced to abandon it suddenly will return to it.



While the most important thing was that they were not at home when the fire broke out, our neighbors were able to salvage much more of their memories than they first thought. He is a musician, a guitarist, and had many vintage guitars that meant a great deal to him. Fortunately, only 2 were lost to the fire, one was damaged but has since been restored. The bulk of what they lost was in clothing, which is easily replaceable.

While they will be returning to a house that will not be quite the same one they bought over 20 years ago, it will afford a new beginning mixed with familiar things. They will have many of their possessions, their memories, and their neighbors there when they return.

Most importantly, they will have their lives.

When the American dream becomes a nightmare.

I live in what can be called a typical American suburb. Middle-class, working families. Couples with no kids, couples with kids, people who work in car dealerships, HVAC repair people, a true cross-section of typical workaday folks. There is rarely any trouble on my block or the surrounding streets near my house. Oh, there were the times when the former next door neighbors got into a big argument, a domestic dispute, and the Sheriff was called out to quell it. Of course, there was the fire that destroyed the home two doors down from me the night before Election Day, but they are rebuilding. So, I gave no thought to the Sheriff's car that passed by my house this morning, taking only a passing mental note of it as it cruised by my home office window.

I went about my morning routine, then got dressed to go out and run some errands. I took my usual route out of my garage, turning up on to the adjacent street, when I glanced off to the left and saw something that made me bring the car to a screeching halt. What prompted this, I have no idea, but its intent was loud and clear:
I don't know these neighbors, though I pass their house almost every day. They live just far enough off my street that we simply don't socialize. It doesn't matter. What happened here was horrific, whether I know them or not. There are however, two interesting things about this "tag."

When I first read it, I thought the word in pink was 'Gay." As I took a second look however, it is very clear that the word that was painted is 'goy," a Yiddish slang word meaning "non-Jew." This is not something that I would have expected, as the town where I live has very few Jews living in it. While Rochester has a decent sized Jewish population, they are mostly in two other different suburban towns, as well as those that live directly in the city. Either the spray painter does not know how to spell correctly, or, they're Jewish, or, they somehow were familiar with the connotation of the word, trying to give the image that it's someone that is Jewish who wrote it.

The other thing is the proper use of hyphenation on the "N" word. They may be racists, but it seems they're educated.

I was shaking with rage after seeing this, and I can only hope that the cops catch the pricks that did this. I am assuming that, for the time being, it was kids being incredibly stupid, looking for some sort of thrill or an initiation rite of some sort. If it turns out that it is adults that did this, then someone is in need of a serious beating. Yes, taking the law into one's own hands and all that, but, there are times when some Bronx-style street justice has its place. These are bullies, and as I learned growing up, reason does not always work with a bully. There are times that you need to punch them in a sensitive spot so they'll think twice about trying something like this again.

I am hoping that the local constabulary does its job and find these pricks. Aside from what civil justice demands, they'll get a good going over both law enforcement and those inside the joint. Sadly, odds are they'll just get a misdemeanor fine or some other slap on the wrist.

Blown to embers.

I never even heard the shouts from the neighbors. Sometimes, while working as I do, the headset I wear can muffle things to the point where I don't notice them. It's better than sitting in the office, where the drone of others around me makes it difficult to concentrate. It's a double-edged sword though, as it can also make me oblivious to danger, especially since being partially deaf in one ear drowns out noise even more.

I do keep the blinds open in my home office so I can see the comings and goings of people and cars. It was the sudden appearance of two fire engines outside my window that startled me a little, as we live on a quiet street. They passed by me, headed down the block, and I took a second to put down my headset and take a look outside. It takes a lot to shock me. What I saw two houses down on my side of the street damn near gave me a heart attack.

My neighbors' house was aflame. It was something out of a movie. The entire roof was engulfed, flames shooting out of the top in a Dante-esque nightmare. I quickly called into work, told them that the house next to me was on fire, (as I mistakenly first thought it was the house immediately next to me) and I bolted out the door, out not only see what was going on, but to hose down the side of my house, if needed.

I found a bunch of neighbors outside staring in disbelief. This is quite a lovely home, and the man and his wife that own it are very nice people. I approached the neighbor who lives right next to me and asked if anyone knew if they were home? She didn't though her and another neighbor had banged on the front door before the smoke forced them back.

There was no answer to their repeated hammering at the front door.

There was a bush near the front steps that had caught fire, after an upstairs window blew out from the heat. The first floor was not on fire, and the firefighters barreled into the front door, dragging hoses, and axes, their air packs making them look like a group of Darth Vaders . Their mission however, was for good, not evil. All we could do at that point was stand around and hope that no one was home.

I responded to many fires when I was a paramedic. I have treated burn patients, and the smell of burning flesh and hair is something I can still very vividly recall. It is one of those things that leaves a mental fingerprint that is never erased. In addition to decaying bodies, I hope to never encounter anything like that again. The last thing I wanted to do was to encounter it in the form of one of my neighbors.

The fire was feeding on the wood timbers, drywall, and personal belongings inside the house; flames raced from the left side of the house to the right. It ate voraciously at the roof, and as it punctured the vinyl siding and roofing shingles, there was suddenly a burst of water that shot forth upwards through the roof. The battle was engaged; primitive elements vs. modern technology. The tower ladder truck raised its bucket, and a second front was formed, directed towards the roof itself. After about 20 minutes, the fire started to die down, and the area became engulfed with thick smoke. The acrid smell of burning materials stung my nose.

I suspected that no one was home, as there didn't seem to be any frenzied calls for an ambulance. I could hear the chatter on the firefighter's radios, and there was no talk of anyone being found inside. At about the 30-minute mark, the neighbors pulled up in their car, just on the other side of the cross-street that borders their home. Relief was spread across all our faces.

They were surprisingly calm, but as I came to find out through another neighbor, this was typical of them. They simply didn't get rattled, and after hearing about what they had been through this past year, it was even more surprising. The wife has lost three members of her family in the past year, including her sister and mother. This was for her, as a certain monarch once remarked, an annuis horriblus.

I don't know what they are going to do with the house. They are an older couple; the kids are out of the house, so if they just took the insurance money and started anew, I couldn't blame them. I guess time will tell. One thing is for sure; the house is totaled. What the fire didn't consume, the smoke and water damaged beyond repair. I did find out that the husband, who is a musician, was able to save six of the nine vintage guitars that he owned.

After all was said and done, I began to think on the obvious. "What if that had been me?," I pondered. It was a blessing that they were not at home, and as they told me, things, for the most part, can be replaced. There are parts of a life that cannot be replaced. There are memories in a home that, once they are blown to embers, are gone forever. I'm not sure I could be as calm about losing those memories. They are part of who I am. I am beginning to think that finding a fireproof storage unit might be a wise idea. I don't live in the past, but I do cherish it.

It's time to take action. This all happened this past Monday night. I don't want to come home on another Monday night and find my home destroyed, and my past obliterated.