Archive for the 'Relief' Category
July 8th, 2010 by Mike Redding
Note: Tom, your comment about Jimmy Brown means a lot to me, thanks…
I’m not going to be able to explain this fully today. I will write about it again soon. But in the meantime, a number of you have sent me e-mails describing your life right now… and it’s one difficult season. Family crisis’. Unemployment. Broken relationships. You name it.
I fail at this with great regularity, but when I find myself in such a place, I try to pull back and look at my life from 35,000 feet. And I tell myself this is a season of divine discontent. It’s not what I wanted. Not what I hoped for. Not what I planned. But it’s what I got. Can’t avoid it. Have to live through it. One day after another. Is there something in it for me? Divine discontent.
What are you learning in your season of divine discontent?
Stew on that… and we’ll come back to this soon… MR
July 6th, 2010 by Mike Redding
I’ve done hundreds of Carolina Traveler stories. The one Andy and I did in Albemarle at the Music Store struck a nerve with viewers. It wasn’t the music store. It was what was on the second floor above the music store. It was a little boy’s dream come to life. So late in a man’s life.
Every week for about five years I’d get a letter or e-mail or phone call from someone wanting to know where that train display was?Eventually we posted a permanent link to the place on WCNC.com. I also kept Jimmy Brown’s number in my speed dial. After we did the story I visited the Albemarle Music Store every year. I brought my oldest son, Trevor, to see it. I was hoping to bring my baby boy, Crowley, to see it this coming Christmas.
It was a magical place. Andy and I were lucky to capture that magic on tape. I think Jimmy Brown was the magic. Yes there were dozens of model trains running on a half dozen different levels in a room that looked like it should have been at Disneyland, but the magic was still Jimmy.
Jimmy lived a life paycheck to paycheck. He ran a modest music store. It was the sort of shop you’d find in Mayberry. Locals would come and sit and talk and while a way half a day telling stories. It looked like a simple old fashioned music shop. If you didn’t know any better you would have come and gone and thought nothing of the Albemarle Music Shop. Quaint. Friendly. Unremarkable. Thousands did just that. Came bought music or an instrument and left.
But Jimmy Brown let our camera upstairs and the Albemarle Music Shop would never be the same. We aired our story in December or 2002 or 3. It’s been a while. I’ve forgotten. It was so long ago I wasn’t yet taking still photos of our subjects.
Jimmy told me after our story aired the store was swamped with visitors… and they never stopped coming. He told me once that our story turned his little model train fantasyland into a business. He started selling model trains. People came from all over the country to see his train world and buy a train from him.
Jimmy gave us all the credit. But the truth is viewers only react this way to the truth of a story, not to the words I wrote or the editing Andy did. People reacted to Jimmy Brown. An aging man with health issues who decided one day to fulfill his childhood dream before it was too late. So he cleared out the second floor of his music store and started building. He and some friends ceased to be adults. They crawled inside their childhood dreams and built something adults no longer can imagine.
I said it earlier, it was magical. You could sit for hours and never see the same thing twice. Everyone I brought had the same experience: it turns you back into a little boy. Jimmy was a man of suffering health. And Jimmy was a boy who fulfilled his dream.
His model train world is stunning.
Jimmy passed away 4th of July weekend. I don’t know what will happen to the music store or the train display on West Main Street in Albemarle. I do know that Jimmy Brown was a good man and a kind soul. He would be mad at me for fussing over him and for saying this… he will be missed more than he could have ever imagined. You brought smiles to thousands of little boys and girls of every age, Jimmy. You were an original. I was proud to tell your story.
Rest in peace, my friend… MR
July 2nd, 2010 by Mike Redding
MilePost 86
Anna, Crowley and I have been taking day trips from our home in Roanoke to destinations in the Blue Ridge. Our most recent was literally on the Blue Ridge Parkway: Peaks of Otter. Which sounds like an alternative rock band but is really three mountain peaks with a lake between. The peaks are Sharp Top, Flat Top and Harkening Hill. The man made lake in the valley is called Abbot.
A very long time ago Thomas Jefferson thought the Peaks of Otter were the tallest mountains in America. Not even close. A couple of guys named Lewis and Clark found some slightly taller ranges farther west.
We had a great lunch overlooking the lake and Sharp Top at the Peaks of Otter Lodge. Worth every dime!
Before lunch we took an ill advised hike to “The Johnson Family Farm.” Ill advised because we had a baby in a stroller and this was a dirt path made for horses and bear. But we made it! Sweaty. But good. It’s an old farm house where nothing in it has been altered since the early 1900s. It was beautiful, that’s for sure. And it gave us a truthful look at how hard life was for families in the country back then. I’m pretty sure i couldn’t have lived like that.
The National Parks Service owns and operates the farm.
The Johnson Family Farm
We had a great time. Save for the gnats. It was gnat hell at points. Know clue why but there were swarms attacking us. No idea how many I inhaled or swallowed. Good times. The Park Ranger said it’s been an unusual year for gnats. Perhaps it’s the recession.
Anyway you can learn more about the Johnson Family here.
Perhaps they were drawn to my organic deodorant… MR
July 1st, 2010 by Mike Redding
At work Wednesday I noticed an awful smell.
It was about 2 p.m. I hadn’t noticed the odor earlier in the day. I figured it was something I tossed in the waste basket after lunch… a banana peel maybe.
Every day about 3 p.m. reporters start coming to me with their scripts for the 5 and 6 O’clock news. But it seemed they we not sitting quite as close to me as usual as we talk through each story and how it was written, what elements they have. The reporters seemed in a big hurry. More than usual. That’s when it hit me. It’s me. I smell.
Anna replaced my regular deodorant with some organic stuff the other day. It’s working well for her. But she smells like flowers all the time anyway. I tried it. It felt good NOT poisoning my armpits with whatever was in my old chemical wax stick. The organic deodorant smells nice and seemed to go on well and did remarkably well… for about seven hours. Put it on a 7 a.m. and at 2 p.m. turn into a pumpkin. Or in this case a rotting pumpkin.
On the way home last night I stopped at the local pharmacy and picked up my old faithful. I’m all for organic everything (my car is made of hemp and runs on grass clippings)… save for this one thing. I draw the line at my armpits.
Today I’m no longer disgusting. Rejoice all ye reporters and producers! I smell like daisies!
I guess not everything in my life is organic yet. I’ll keep trying… MR
June 30th, 2010 by Anna Redding
Summertime means adventure time for Crowley, me and my boyfriend, Bob. (By the way Bob is the best boyfriend I ever had: quiet, strong, great looking and carries the baby everywhere. I’ll admit he is a stroller, even so…he’s still the best.) Anyway, as I learn about Crowley’s busy little brain and how it works…I can tell he likes to keep moving. New environments seem to light a fire under the little man’s development. So, since we are working on the words for animals, I thought, let’s go see them. So off we went to The Natural Bridge Zoo.
Crowley making friends
It’s about 35 miles north of Roanoke in Rockbridge County. Privately owned, the zoo has everything from zebras, bears, tigers, monkeys, giraffes to elephants (Crowley said ‘elephant’ for the first time). His favorite animals, by far, were the baby goats.
Crowley's goats at The Natural Bridge Zoo
If you have kids and are in the vicinity, should you go? Why not? It’s $8 for an adult, Crowley was free. Is this how I would spend my free time if not teaching a child how to talk? No. This is a place with tremendous potential but they don’t put a lot of effort into the exhibits or even educating you about the animals. That said, I am glad we went and Crowley had an up close encounter with so many animals. Friendly to off-roading strollers like Bob. He’s so dependable.
After we toured the The Natural Bridge Zoo, we headed down to the The Natural Bridge.. which is an enormous rock formation, carved out by a river to form a… well… a natural bridge. Also privately owned, you’ll have to fork over a whopping $18 per adult to see the thing. It is handicapped accessible which means they load you into a rickety bus (think camp from your childhoods) and head down a bumpy, curvy road… bouncing all the way. Not a great idea to wear a low cut top, especially if you are still nursing. There will be a wardrobe failure.
The happy (and sad) part is, they have paved the whole path up to and under the Natural Bridge. This makes it a breeze for Bob but the pavement takes the nature right out of natural. But it is an awesome site. Absolutely enormous. And cool.
Crowley, Anna and Bob... Natural Bridge in the background...
The tree canopy and water made this spot about 10 degrees cooler than the 97 degrees in Roanoke… which was a huge relief. And while this great natural wonder loomed over our heads, Crowley was more interested in talking an elderly lady out of her walker because that walker looked like a really good time!
Crowley eyes a walker and makes a play for it!
Farther down the path is a historic recreation of a Monacan Native American Village. The path trades in the pavement for gravel which with a little elbow grease, Bob still handled well.
Crowley feeling at home in the wigwam
My feelings about the Monacan village? How can you disparage the very place where your son falls in love with a wigwam. And yet, I am going to. Again, major failure on the education front. Who were the Monacans? Where are they now? What happened to them? Etc.? I still have no idea the answers to those questions. There was a tool maker present and some college students dressed as Native Americans. So, it was fun to watch Crowley run around and explore, but would this village excite and adult brain? Sorry. Probably not.
We stopped at a little cafe at the foot of The Natural Bridge. And while the view was beautiful, better to bring your own food. I have never had a hot dog bun that was both chewy and wrinkled… until now.
I know this isn’t a glowing review. The truth is we had a wonderful time. We blocked out the onslaught of tourist chachka for sale and focused on all the natural we could find, having a good laugh along the way. Time well spent, another adventure in our catalog.
Crowley, Bob and I are home until the next trip… Anna
June 28th, 2010 by Anna Redding
Crowley’s 15-month-old check up went well. Height… above average. Weight… average. New round of vaccinations. Everything normal until I asked this question.
“By the way, what were the results of Crowley’s lead test from his 12-month check up?”
“Let me check,” doc says as he flips through Crowley’s chart, “He scored a 4. Nothing to worry about. We worry at ‘5′ and above.”
All I heard was, “He scored a ‘4.’”
And so the journalist in me bolted to the surface and the grilling began.
A ‘4′?
How could he have any lead in his blood?
Where is it coming from?
That’s only one sample, what if this blood sample represents the beginning of lead exposure and the number is climbing?
What kind of developmental issues occur at even low lead levels?
Will it clear his system?
And on and on and on and on. Even after I left the appointment the questions continued one after another in my head, growing louder and louder and truly deafening by 3 am.
Let’s start with what we know. According to my doctor, a level of ‘4′ is not harmful to Crowley’s development. That being said, it would be a good idea to find the source of exposure and eliminate it. The doctor recommended we look at the water in our house, drink bottled water in the meantime and gave us a prescription for fluoride. He also said that, in time, the lead will clear Crowley’s system.
On the way home, I cried. I don’t care what anybody says, anything above a ‘0′ is not okay with me. I felt like I failed in protecting my child. It was hard to get perspective. It just felt heavy. Totally unacceptable. And as I began to do my homework, I realized that fixing the problem wasn’t going to happen overnight… which I hated.
And so the search began. We live in a house built in 1925. I sent a water sample to a lab for analysis. (Helpful tip: when picking a lab, pick one that doesn’t sell equipment to fix a lead issue. That way you can be sure the results are straight forward and not part of a sales pitch).
Whenever Crowley napped or went down for the night, I got busy researching lead. I devoured medical journals and policy papers, including the Federal government’s exhaustive resources about lead. Here’s what I learned. There is NO safe level of lead in a child. Even so, most medical guidelines say anything greater than ‘10′ requires immediate action. But not that long ago the threshold was even higher. Which tells me something: the more they learn about lead, the lower that threshold becomes. This only spurred me on to find the source in our house and eliminate it.
We tested all of the interior paint. We tested all of Crowley’s painted toys. We tested his crib. Everything tested lead free. We were stumped. It had to be the water. But that test won’t come back for 10 days! An eternity. And then it hit us!… Continue reading ‘Unleaded, Please…’
June 25th, 2010 by Mike Redding
In keeping with my accidental theme this week (animals) I bring you Levi.
Levi is a dog. Both in the sense of his four-legs and fur and in the sense or how women sometimes refer to men. Lemme splain.
He came to work today with his human owner, Brian Britt. Brian is our IT guru at the TV station. He spends an inordinate amount of time in the newsroom because, well, that’s where the journalists work. And journalists have issues with technologically advanced machines. I once watched an e-mail exchange between a journalist and the entire engineering staff at WCNC in Charlotte that went like this:
Journalist: “URGENT: I CAN’T PRINT SCRIPTS!!!!!! THE PRINTER IS DOWN! PLEASE HELP ASAP!”
Two minutes later…
IT Guy: “Printer is fixed. I turned it on.”
While I wasn’t that journalist, I have been similarly stupid. Needless to say, Brian Britt is a name I know well. I don’t know why he brought Levi to work and I don’t care. I love dogs and having them around all day is just fine by me.
Levi is the most calm… I’ll call him a black lab… I have ever seen. He’s a pound dog. Brian rescued him from “kill” shelter so he literally saved Levi’s life. And maybe it’s that which gives Levi his super-chill way. Maybe he came so close to death and somehow sensed that he has a perspective on life even we don’t.
As I watched Levi today in our newsroom I learned one thing. Dogs, real or of the huMAN kind, love women. At least this one does. I was a few minutes into my patented super-cozy petting-scratch with Levi melting like butter in front of me when one of our female reporters walked by. Levi looked at me, looked at her, and walked right over to her. I won’t lie, I felt a little used. Cheap even. Under my breath I muttered, “She’s never going home with you, Levi.” I can be very petty.
Levi worked the room like Charlie Sheen on his first night out of the slammer. Ignoring the men but flirting with every gal in the place. It was a thing of beauty and disgusting all at once.
Brian fixed whatever was wrong and he and Levi made their way back down the hall to sales and another room full of women.
Levi, you dog you…MR
June 23rd, 2010 by Mike Redding
It’s animal week at SASTP. My Charlotte readers have been blessed by a wonderful Bigfoot sighting in North Carolina. And all of you have been cursed with my story about the puppy that tried but couldn’t save some baby birds. R.I.P. Siskins.
Today squirrels.
We have three mal-formed squirrels which frequent our back porch. They frequent our back porch because we put out bird seed to attract birds for us to watch while we eat breakfast. I’m sure this all destroys the circle of life in our neighborhood. Somewhere down the block a baby bird is looking at the worm its mother just regurgitated saying, “I hear there’s some delicious seed available at the Redding’s.”
Watching birds It’s an educational experience for the boy. And he eats better when distracted. The squirrels have now come to expect a hearty breakfast courtesy of yours truly. And when I’m too busy to put seed out, they come right up to our windows, lean against the glass and stare at us. I’m not kidding
I haven’t snapped photos of this yet, but I will try.
They see us inside eating Cream of Wheat and sipping Italian coffee (Not Crowley. He gets purified water.) and they show up. They just stare at us like BP executives looking at the Gulf of Mexico. They have no idea what they’re doing but they know what they want.
One squirrel has no tail. I nicknamed him “No Tail.” So so clever. Another has one ear. I call him, you guessed it, “One ear.” The third has only one front paw. I call him… wait for it… “Lefty.”
You know, if you take a close look, squirrels are basically cute rats. Put a furry tail on a rat, give it slightly bigger eyes, voila! A squirrel. If I had rats staring at me during breakfast I’d crap my pants, call off work, buy a flamethrower and torch everything in sight.
Rats with furry tails? Well that’s a different story… MR
June 22nd, 2010 by Mike Redding
While they don’t pee on your rug or stink up your house, fake puppies can’t save birds. I learned that sad lesson today. I don’t know if birds have feelings but if they do Mama and Papa Pine Siskin are heartbroken.
My half-butt attempt to protect some baby birds failed. The nest was destroyed by a satanic cat. The baby Pine Siskins are gone. If you need the back story, read my previous post. I actually thought it would work. What a nincompoop.
That cat I will forever refer to as “Satan” did what cats do. It’s in their blood. Like humans hunting from helicopters. It’s the circle of life and all that. Sure. But if I ever see that furry red-haired devil I’ll kick it across the yard. Mind you, I don’t want it dead. Just scared to death. Of me. Of my front porch. And all baby creatures around my house. Save for snakes, rats and mice. Any of those are fair game. See. I’m a hypocrite. I warned you in my last post.
Why can’t cats pick on something their own size… like squirrels or my kicking foot?
I’m pissed… MR
June 21st, 2010 by Mike Redding
This is Puppy. I'll explain later.
Every year at this time I become the world’s biggest hypocrite. (The rest of the year I’m the run-of-the-mill hypocrite.)
I tell people all the time how much I loathe birds. Hate isn’t a big enough word. Then Sunday we find a bird nest in one of our front porch planters and I turn into St. Francis. (For the heartless, he LOVED all animals.) Anyway, we do all we can to allow any baby creatures -that happen to be born on our property- the chance to live to adulthood. Sort of the opposite of BP.
We found a nest of tiny Pine Siskins (little peeps, basically) in one of our Junipers. I think it’s a Juniper. We are very excited. Showed Crowley. Chirped out our acceptance -in my manly way- to the mother and father Siskins watching our every move. They chirped back. We’re all on the same page.
Save for a red-haired cat that up until today had been cute to us.
We walked outside after dinner and on our front steps a dead baby Siskin. I wasn’t positive, but the amount of blood told me this was more than a baby dropping from the nest. The missing head was a hint, too. Sorry to upset you. That damn cat.
Early this morning I ran to the grocery for (human) baby essentials and when I got back
Puppy stands guard next to the Geranium just below the Juniper...
the evil cat was sitting on my steps glaring at the Juniper. There’s only two baby SIskins left!
I don’t have time to go buy a wire fence to protect the nest from the cat. I must run to work in minutes. All I have is Puppy. I reached inside the front door and grabbed one of my son’s favorite friends, Puppy!
So Puppy will stand guard until I can go to the hardware store and get some wire fence.
Good luck today baby Siskins. May the circle of life not catch up with you just yet… MR
