With Thanksgiving tomorrow, I found it appropriate to write my blog about an event tonight that is to help benefit a Norwich native who has been providing aid to Jamaican children for years.
Thanksgiving eve is known to be one of — if not the biggest — bar night of the year. Many folks have traveled home for the holiday and go out to see friends they haven’t seen in perhaps years.
This year, Norwich band Seek the Lion is playing at Rita’s Tavern in Norwich and is passing a hat around the establishment for those individuals who are feeling the mood to give to a cause; the endeavors of Jeffrey Neadom.
Neadom travels to Jamaica to aid children in need.
Neadom said, “The seed for helping out Jamaica was planted in 1993 when I camped there for 3 weeks. “In 2012 on my birthday eve I started the Jamaican Schools Project on Facebook in memory of my mom.”
Neadom added that he teamed up with the president of the PTA at Craighton Primary School and raised funds to renovate the boys and girls bathrooms.
Last year, Neadom returned to Jamaica and renovated the nurse’s office and sick bay, supplied them with beds, mattresses, bedding and medicine, and painted the canteen and principals office. He additionally tiled and pained in the nurse’s office and the sick bay.
Neadom plans to head out to Jamaica again, and there are funds necessary in order to complete the projects to help out the children in need.
“This year I’m hoping to resurface the playground and do a small library/reading room,” said Neadom.
Seek the Lion’s guitarist Nate Collins said, “With all the terrible things happening in the country and world right now, we’re just glad that we can help Jeff make a positive difference in people’s lives.”
Drummer Nick Andrews said anything that individuals are willing or able to spare to help Neadom out is greatly appreciated.
“We have known (Neadom) for years and for years he has helped to rebuild schools in Jamaica,” said Andrews. “Tonight we are passing a hat to raise money for his next trip. Hopefully with what we raise he can at least get the kids some more things they need.”
Neadom said, “Now I’m just trying to give them (the children) a safe place for recess. There are 125 students so it’s cramped, but the resurfacing will give them a lot more room.”
A woman who donated money to Neadom’s fund, Sandy Myers, said, “After my recent trip to Jamaica, I can completely appreciate the work (Neadom is) doing. Keep it up Jeff, you’re doing a good thing.”
As a group, Seek the Lion shared its goal. Any money raised to send out with Neadom will help guarantee a safe and healthy schoolhouse for less fortunate children. The group said they want the youth to succeed and one of the best ways to do that is give them the opportunity to do so.
“Thanks everyone it means a lot to us and the kids,” said Andrews.
Seek the Lion describes its sound as “reggae dance music.” The show at Rita’s Tavern begins at 9 p.m.
Local musician Ben Miner is set to open for the band beginning at 8:30 p.m.
“I’ve got a few donations so far, and several people have committed to giving, so I’m feeling good,” said Neadom. “Family helps.”
Those unable to make the show due to the snow, or due to being out of the area, but who still would like to donate to the cause can visit Neadom’s GoFundMe page at gofundme.com/jamaicanschools.
Ashley's Reporter Blog
With Thanksgiving tomorrow, I found it appropriate to write my blog about an event tonight that is to help benefit a Norwich native who has been providing aid to Jamaican children for years.
I feel as though a little bit of happy is in order.
Nearly the past month of my life has been consumed by the murder trial of Ganesh R. Ramsaran who was found guilty Tuesday (Perhaps, if time permits, I’ll write an opinion piece regarding it). This morning, on my way to work, I passed Chenango County Sheriff’s Office patrol vehicles heading north on Route 12. I found out ten minutes later, a deceased woman was located in Sherburne. Folks I went to high school with appear in the police blotter or in other areas of the paper on drug charges rather often.
So, like I said, I feel as though a little bit of happy is in order.
My crazy stubborn cat — who had snuck outside and was missing for approximately 27 days — has finally returned home. Six-year-old Jack is back to his usual self, even more-so than he was before bolting out the door.
Jack’s second favorite past-time? Napping on the sports section of the paper. After my husband reads it, it’s known that it now belongs to Jack. He’ll examine it, walk all over it, then take a snooze. He’ll wake up, scratch it to shreds (sorry, Pat), and then lay back down.
Daily routine. It makes me happy.
One of my closest friends has moved back to New York after spending some years out in Seattle. Her son is six now, which is hard to believe. Having them home brings a little spunk into my life, and spunk is always welcomed.
I have a best friend who is five, and she just started kindergarten. She gave me a bracelet yesterday that she had made, and after handing it to me she said, “I know those are your favorite colors, so it’s for you.” I wore it all night, and it’s next to me now as I type this.
My husband is supportive, hilarious, and just my absolute favorite. When I wake up each morning, the coffee is already made. If you know me as a person at all, coffee is essential in order for me to be a human that has any business being in public.
I have a home in the middle of nowhere filled with five males: four pets and the fella. I wouldn’t want it any other way.
The support system I have in general is fantastic. Family, friends, strangers … you name it.
When my cat was missing, I had total strangers that follow me on Twitter asking if he had returned home yet. Emails came to my work account with queries as to whether or not certain located cats were my Jack-A-Roo. Those sentiments were absolutely appreciated.
A complete stranger came up to me this morning to tell me how happy he was because the sun was shining. I agreed, and we spoke for a few minutes about how we’re happier with our coffee black … without a shred of that fake pumpkin stuff.
I have four types of ice cream in my freezer. That makes me ridiculously happy.
Often times I’m told I don’t smile enough — sometimes my face just doesn’t smile. I can’t think of the last time I wasn’t happy.
Regardless, I figured with everything that’s transpired — even today alone — I would share some of my happy.
I have been writing murder trial stories in each paper since Sept. 2, I believe. I’ve also been doing my regular duties of building the pages for the following day’s paper, trying to update “30 seconds” as much as possible, and respond to emails as efficiently as time permits. Also, my cat has been MIA for more than two weeks now.
Regardless of all that, I decided today would be an appropriate day to blog.
What follows is what I remember from this day, at age 12.
I’m in the second to last seat in the second row closer to the door near the exit of Mrs. Meek’s math class. It’s business as usual. She’s writing notes on the projector, and I’m writing them down. With math, I was rather good at memorizing for the test and then letting it leave my mind. One look over my notes the morning before a test and I was golden. Did I learn anything in that class that day? Probably not.
Next up was Mr. Emerson’s English class. We were watching a movie that was based on a book we had just finished reading. Can’t recall what it was. Of Mice and Men pops into my head, but I can’t be sure. Just before that class was over — which was my class right before lunch — the teacher’s phone rang. After hanging up and just as the bell was ringing, he had told us all that the Twin Towers had fallen down. I remember someone asking, “The Tri Towers?!” and he clarified the location was New York City. We left class and went to lunch.
A boy in the lunch line was yelling that we were going to be bombed next. Some folks in line cried.
I remember wanting to know what was going on. I overheard employees of the school talking about making sure no TVs were on. I was 12, the last thing I wanted was to be shielded from “reality.”
Then after lunch I finally made it to Mr. Telesky’s social studies class. You know what he did? He turned on the TV, and said, “Watch. And ask away.”
He explained some things and people asked questions. He told us that what happened that morning —while I was taking notes in a math class that I’ll never remember — would never be forgotten. That it’d be in history books when we became adults.
I remember going home from school and watching it on TV with my sister. Then my mother came home from work and we watched together. I remember asking if the smoke would make it all the way to Norwich.
I don’t recall if it was that same day or perhaps in the days following, but I remember expressing that I didn’t think any people who haven’t done anything wrong should die. I still believe that.
So many people have lost their lives as a result of the events of that day. It makes my heart heavy.
Today I realize that a five-year-old boy on Sept. 11, 2001 is now old enough to fight and die in wars that began as a result of what took place that morning.
I wonder if that boy remembers where he was. I have memories of going to Disney World at the age of five, so I really wonder what a small child thinks of the events from 9/11/01, if s/he remembers.
Anyway, back to Ashley, age 25.
To anyone who lost a family member or friend on Sept. 11, 2001, I am sorry. To anyone who has lost a loved one in combat in a war the United States is involved in, I am sorry. To anyone innocent who has been killed, I am sorry. To the family members of veterans who have taken their own lives after returning from combat, my thoughts are with you.
My heart is just all-around heavy today.
I’ve slacked in the blogging department lately. Therefore, here’s a quick little ‘editor’s update.’
The editorial staff recently said goodbye to the man who had been handling our sports section since March. I wish Shaun the best of luck in his future endeavors. Also, I owe him plenty of thanks for bringing coffee into my office some mornings. I’m not a morning person, and can be a total jerk until I finish that third cup. Thank you, Shaun, for making sure my mornings were less rough.
On a related note, Pat Newell, 18+ year sports editor, has returned to The Evening Sun. His first week back was as smooth as could be, and the editorial staff was able to keep the 30-year-old tangerine tree that he kept in our building while he was gone alive. We (well … I) named the tree Victor. He was in good hands, and Pat seemed happy to see that he was rotated and watered as instructed. To be honest, I didn’t water or rotate the tree once. The others made sure Victor was well taken care of.
I had a vacation I had planned (essentially) since last June. I was going to spend a week in New Hampshire at The Eleventh Annual Porcupine Freedom Festival in Lancaster (I wrote about it last year … you can find it somewhere on this site, if you’re interested). I went last year, but life happened and I couldn’t make it this year. Luckily I had friends who were able to use my campsite, and I wasn’t out too much money in the end. Anyway, I had spent some time showing Staff Writer Shawn Magrath the ropes of my job, and he handled things (with me semi-close by) for a couple weeks so that in case I happen to be sick one of these days or something, I’ll be able to take a day off.
Life becomes a little less stressful knowing there is a plan B.
That being said, I was away from my desk for a while to let Shawn do his thing, and went back to playing reporter for a little bit. Boy, I don’t miss that. The calls that don’t get returned, the emails that go unanswered, and the people who miss interviews. I’ll stick with my gig: build pages, answer emails, phone calls, and write the random story here and there when I have time to kill in the morning and something happened.
It feels good being back in my seat. Even though I was still working, it wasn’t the same. But I do thank Shawn and the rest of the staff for their hard work.
On a completely unrelated note, our building is going through some renovations, apparently. I come in each morning and something else has been moved or painted or the mirror from the ladies’ room has been relocated to the hallway. The coffee makers are unplugged.
The mirror thing … no biggie. I don’t look in mirrors really anyway. However, the coffee thing (as stated in the beginning) is a pretty big deal if we want a pleasant editor.
The Keurig we have in the kitchen is great. I can make a cup super quick, but we’re out of K-cups. Sam doesn’t drink coffee, but 80 cups split between three people only lasted a couple weeks.
We have another coffee maker that could potentially hold multiple pots of coffee (burners that keep it hot on the top and all that jazz), but it takes forever to heat up and be ready to brew if it gets unplugged.
Which now leads me to my ‘moment of the week.’
The ‘big’ coffee maker got unplugged. We have no K-cups. We do have – thankfully – one of those things where you can scoop the coffee into it and pop it in the Keurig and make a single cup.
Attempting to do this before any coffee in my system is a disaster waiting to happen. Coffee grounds landed all over the counter, I couldn’t manage to close the container thing once I scooped in the coffee, and I dropped grounds all over the kitchen floor.
Staff Writer Matt White made his way into the kitchen to witness my failure at the coffee making process. By this time, I had grounds all over my hands, on my shirt, and he had to assist in the closing of what I will name ‘the worst coffee thingy ever.’
Finally a cup of disgusting, watered down coffee with floating grounds was made and I drank the entire thing. Luckily, it wasn’t long after when the dinosaur coffee maker was ready to roll.
Moral of this long, long, story?
I probably should look in the mirror more.
… As it turns out, I built that day’s paper with coffee grounds all over my face. Perfect.
I don’t really go out to eat often. Well, to be more accurate, I don’t really eat often. One meal a day, once I’m done with work. Depending on the day, that could be 4 p.m. or 9 p.m. That’s not really the point here though … the point is I went out to dinner Friday night and enjoyed myself.
Park Place in downtown Norwich recently got a facelift, and the first time I walked in following the renovations I believe I said, “Whoa! This is cool. I don’t know where to go.”
Occasionally on Fridays, the Evening Sun staff will go there for lunch. I tend to be late and often don’t order food. It’s still a nice way to wrap up the week with the editorial staff.
I hadn’t gone there for dinner until this past Friday though. Not only was the meal tasty, the servers were rather attentive.
Now, I’m not big on crowds. At all. But on a whim it was decided that Park Place was to be the dinner destination. It was busy, but I should have expected it. It was Friday, after all.
The bar was pretty crowded, and at first glance all the tables looked full. Almost immediately, an employee approached the two of us and sent us toward the hostess who would seat us. I, naturally, picked the seat where there wasn’t anyone behind me. Another weird quirk.
We were promptly welcomed once more, and were introduced to our servers. I say ‘servers’ because there were two young women who took care of us and were rather gracious throughout our visit.
I said before I usually eat one meal a day. Now I’ll say that that meal is not a salad. While the menu has many salad choices, I opted for something less healthy. That’s just my style.
I ordered the grilled chicken dijon wrap. I’m not a tomato fan, so asked if I could substitute the tomatoes for black olives.
Our server enthusiastically said, “Of course you can!” Since olives are in my top seventeen favorite foods, that made me happy.
I also ordered a side of cheese for my fries. Like I said, salads aren’t my gig.
I have no idea how many TVs there are inside the establishment, but it’s impressive. They’re huge, and regardless of what sport is your preference, there’s probably something you’ll find you like. Don’t worry, the volume isn’t on all the TVs at the same time, but they do have a handy little device on each table where you can pick the screen that you want to watch, and turn up the volume.
If you’re out to eat with a group of basketball fans, or if you have money on the Spurs vs Heat, you might want to turn that knob up a notch or two.
I also took notice that two of the TVs had cartoons for the little tykes, which was nice to see. While it was a Friday night and the bar area was a little busy, there were families enjoying meals, and it was cute to peer over and see a girl smiling and pointing at the antics of Spongebob.
While waiting for our dinner, we were offered some popcorn, which was a super kind gesture. We declined (I’m not a popcorn fan), but it was very nice.
We stepped outside for a couple minutes and upon returning, our server promptly said, “Oh! I’ll go see if it’s ready for ya!”
While she was off to check in the kitchen, we commented to each other about how attentive the service had been. We also discussed the vibe of the place since the renovations and chatted with various friends we spotted.
My wrap was tasty. I’m not a ‘super duper food critic’ or anything like that, but I know what I like and what I don’t like. I ate the whole thing, and that’s rare for me. The black olives made it extra good, in my opinion.
Didn’t finish my fries, but pretty close. I’m not a fries and ketchup kinda gal, which is why I opted for cheese. We were approached and asked if everything was okay or if we needed anything a couple of times, which is always nice.
Then, our super friendly server, (I feel horrible for forgetting her name, because as I was eating I knew I wanted to write a blog about it), brought out the tray of desserts. Ah! Tempting, but I was full.
Something on there looked absolutely yummy, and I hope someone got it and enjoyed it. It looked like some sort of mint chocolate pie-type-thing … and I am willing to bet it was delicious.
If one of the kiddos at one of the tables nearby had any of that pie, I think he or she would have been one happy camper. I just couldn’t do it.
As I’ve said before, I’m not good with brevity. However, the point of this whole thing was to say that I enjoyed dinner at Park Place on Friday night. Even though it was busy, and it’s not really my style to go to busy places, I not only had a filling meal that involved black olives and cheese fries, but everyone around was so friendly and the atmosphere was welcoming.
I also had said that I couldn’t even remember what it looked like before the renovations. I was impressed.
The vibe was positive and it seemed as though all the patrons were enjoying themselves. It’s nice looking around and seeing people having a good time.
A Friday night that involved a good meal and no work … I’ll take it.
I was waiting at a stop sign the other day as a young boy was crossing the street. Green and black hoodie, jeans, head down, glasses. I’ll guess he was 13. I’m not sure why, but the first thought that popped in my head was, “I wonder what life is like for this young man in school.”
This had me thinking about bullying for the past couple days.
A bully is defined as a person who uses strength or power to harm or intimidate those who are weaker. So, let’s be real … there are bullies all over town.
However that boy crossing the street started a stream-of-consciousness sort of thing regarding young folks, schools, and aggression, so that’s where I’ll try to focus this.
In school, I was super quiet. I could go an entire school day without uttering a single word aloud. No one really gave me a hard time. I had friends, naturally, but we didn’t have class together, so I’d just do my thing. Teachers never really ‘called on’ me, so I could literally go the entire day without speaking. That changed some in high school, but teachers left me alone for the most part. So did other students who weren’t friends with me. It was perfect. I’d associate with who I wanted, and that was that.
There was one instance that I remember that sticks out. I had to get surgery in both junior and senior year. I was on crutches for six weeks each time. I was supposed to be allowed to leave class five minutes prior to everyone else so that I wouldn’t get trampled over when everyone else was in the halls. There was one school employee who wouldn’t let me. It was the class right before lunch, and it was assumed that if I was late getting there, it wasn’t a class, so it didn’t matter.
Anyway, I was making my way to my destination and behind me I heard a certain female who will remain nameless say, “Hurry up. I’m about to trip a [expletive].”
I remember contemplating stopping, and just sticking my right arm out to trip her with my crutch. I didn’t.
That is my only memory of anyone being snarky to me in school. So I had it pretty good.
I remember fights in the cafeteria. Fights in the hallway. Fights in the classroom. Groups of folks making fun of other students because of socioeconomic status. People belittling others because of their choice of attire. Because of their name.
And you know what? I could name more than thirty aggressors and victims of said aggression right off the top of my head. But I won’t. I can remember the day of the week certain fights took place. And I can remember what was done about it.
I’m sure there are people who have been very badly injured while on school property (not only physically, but also psychologically). I’m also willing to bet the aggressors are not only students.
Well, I suppose I think back to the boy who was crossing the road. He just didn’t look pleased. Sure, it could have been because he doesn’t like school. But I can’t help but wonder:
’What if someone made fun of him because of his weight just minutes prior to my run-in with him?’ ‘What if someone pushed him up against the wall in the bathroom today?’ ‘What if his teacher called him dumb?’ ‘What if he’s walking home to an abusive parent and would rather stay at school?’ ‘What if he beat someone up himself?’
Lots of ‘what ifs.”
I guess what I’m curious about is how altercations or aggressive situations are handled in public school.
If it’s ‘taken care of by administration internally,’ then I think that’s bogus. Rarely does something helpful result from an internal investigation.
Let’s say a physical altercation happens in a public school. Is law enforcement called? If so, does the law enforcement employee use aggression on the student alleged to have been the perpetrator? If the answer to that is yes, then what does that teach other students about violence? That also begs the question, “Is violence okay sometimes?”
Okay, let me back up, my thoughts are getting ahead of me. As a human, I have the innate right to defend myself if being aggressed upon.
No one is going to lay a hand on me and get away with it. If someone uses words in an attempt to threaten or harass me, I am able to diffuse the situation swiftly. But not everyone is like me.
Some people are short tempered, some people do not think they are capable of defending themselves, some folks are easily intimidated.
Everyone is different.
One blanket, ‘This is how we handle bullying,’ is not going to work.
Are aggressors in schools held accountable for their actions? Are victims made whole?
Or is, ‘You’re going to sit in this other room for two days,’ still the punishment? If that’s the case, nothing is solved.
And further, will it ever be solved? There are always going to be jerks. And there will always be those who are less likely to defend themselves for various reasons.
A friend said her child was verbally and physically accosted while on his way home from school yesterday by two schoolmates. The aggressors were two females and the victim, a boy. She said the females called her son an expletive and pushed him to the ground.
What’s the recourse there? It didn’t happen on the property of the the public school, it happened on the street. Should the school be informed? Should the aggressor’s parents be informed? What happens if nothing happens and there’s a ‘next time?’
I am willing to bet there are ‘next times’ that happen daily in schools. I’m willing to bet there are victims of aggression in school that will never say a word. I’m sure there are some who do ask for help and nothing is done. I bet there are students who are bullied both at home and at school, and they’re not all that happy with life.
This is just a lot of ‘Ashley rambling’ on a Saturday morning while drinking coffee. I know where I stand on the issue, but I’m really curious as to how parents, current students, and administration feel about it.
… I also hope the boy in that green and black hoodie is happy with life.
My favorite shows are the ones in venues that are tiny. They’re most likely either really hard to find, or I’m just a really poor navigator. I know the latter is the truth.
I got my car at 16, and that’s the time I realized that not much beats a road trip to a show with a group of friends. Well, quite honestly, I have no problem flyin’ solo.
Since probably 14 or 15 I’ve been into independent, socially conscious hip hop (Aesop Rock, Atmosphere, Immortal Technique, Eyedea & Abilities, Brother Ali, Sage Francis, Mac Lethal … I could continue, but won’t), reggae, and slam poetry. Funk, jazz fusion, blues, folk … all of that fun stuff too. You can keep your rock, country and pop, I don’t need any of that.
Sage Francis show in Philly? I’m there. Soja in Allentown? You betcha. Mac Lethal in Buffalo? Of course.
When I was 17 my friends and I decided to drive to Tennessee to go to Bonnaroo, a music festival with some 90,000 people.
That was a fun adventure. Planned for it for months. But not really. I mean, we bought our tickets months ahead of time, and I saved as much money as I could. But I packed my things the day we drove off.
I went to Bonnaroo again the following year. More adventures, more memories, more music. It was a good time.
There were a couple folks I met that remain – in my experience – the kindest humans I’ve encountered in my 25 years. 110 degrees in the middle of a field in Tennessee: Barely any shade, no shower for days, and I had the pleasure of randomly meeting strangers who I still think of all these years later.
To the man over 60 in the big floppy half-deflated inner tube hat: I hope you’re still around, loving life. Thank you for being the epitome of a kind human.
At any rate, Bonnaroo was fun for a 17-year-old Ashley.
I still prefer tiny venues where you can still feel the vibe from the show the night before. The place that just reeks of live music.
My friends and I would realize that someone we listened to had a show in, say, Philly, in a month or two – and within an hour our tickets would be purchased and we’d have our “plan.”
That is, get in the car that day, make sure we have gas to get there and back, and (personally) enough money in my pocket to give to a homeless individual if s/he asked. (On the sixth grade safety patrol trip we were told not to give money to people on the street. I have ever since. It’s my money, I’ll do with it what I wish).
I’ve been to hip hop shows in basements of buildings in cities I’d never been to before. It’s taken me forever to get out of Boston at 3 a.m. following a show because I am horrible with directions. Coming back from a show in Buffalo once, I still swear we were mere inches from smoking a deer on the thruway (I wasn’t driving that time … If I were, I’m sure we would have hit it. I’m notorious for that).
Each show brings me something to look forward to. A reason to continue to be happy when I have days that bum me out.
“Ugh, today really was not so awesome. Oh! Only three weeks until the Soja show, I’m good.”
It’s similar to how I feel when I plan a trip to New Hampshire. Knowing there are escapes that will refresh my soul keep me going.
Life wouldn’t be all that fun if all I ever did was work. I need those fantastic adventures to be able to tell little tikes later on.
Anyway, I’m not entirely sure why I’m blogging about this. It’s just a stream-of-consciousness ramble.
Oh, that’s right … I was thinking about upcoming plans and got excited.
I’ll be spending a full week camping in the White Mountains in New Hampshire in June. It’s the first time I’ll be taking a vacation. It’ll be my second trip to the Porcupine Freedom Festival. Last year, I could only go for the weekend, this year I’ll be there the entire week.
I also just learned (and by ‘just’ I mean … 20 minutes ago), that Michael Franti, Soja, and Trevor Hall will be playing in New Hampshire in July. I’ll purchase my ticket as soon as they go on sale next week. I’ve seen them all before, but it’s been too long. And better yet, they’re playing in one of the most beautiful areas of the lakes region in NH. A region I’ve only seen when the leaves were bright orange, so I’m excited to see it in the summertime.
Ahh… live music. New Hampshire. Escape.
And on that note, it’s back to work.
In July I traded in my car. I got it from my father when I turned 16, and named it Saucey. It was a 2005 Chevy Cobalt. The first song I listened to in that car was G. Love and Special Sauce’s “Baby’s Got Sauce,” and therefore Saucey was the only appropriate name for him.
Yes, “him.” I name just about every object I cross paths with. Everything is given a male’s name, because I’ve always thought they were better options. Felix, Saucey, Victor, Toby … all these are names of things I own or am in contact with often.
“Hey, Shawn … did anyone water and rotate Victor today?” I named former Sports Editor Pat Newell’s 30-year-old tangerine tree Victor. And no, I don’t think he has been watered and rotated yet today.
At any rate, Saucey took me on thousand of adventures. He was a solid little car. His time with me was up, and I cried when I traded him in and purchased a 2013 Subaru.
I thought I’d never see my faithful pal ever again.
I’m happy to report that is not the case, and Saucey is alive and well, as of last Saturday.
Shawn sent me a photo months ago of a blue Chevy Cobalt parked in the lot of a Norwich business and asked if it might be Saucey. It most certainly was. The broken antenna and the little spot of blue paint near the back left bumper where it was supposed to be black was a give-away.
That antenna got bent when I was living in Buffalo going to school for psychology. There was a snow storm in early October that dropped more than two feet of snow, and bent the antenna. That must have been 2006; I never got it fixed. I just periodically would have to “push and turn” and it’d go back to its original position, and it’d stay that way until I drove faster than 50 mph, in which case I’d have to fix it again.
It also poked many people in the eye. Those people need better observation skills when walking through parking lots.
Shawn said the antenna remains bent and that is how he identifies it as Saucey.
I’ve replaced Saucey with a car I call ‘Schino. He’s “deep cherry red” and the first song I listened to in that vehicle was an Aesop Rock tune that references maraschino cherries at one point.
‘Schino was just a baby when I bought him, and he just broke 10,000 miles. I did some math the other day, and realized that nearly 7,000 of those miles were built up traveling to, from, or within New Hampshire. That made me a very happy camper. I’m looking forward to thousands more journeys with my new pal.
Anyway, this blog is pretty much about nothing. I name things, including my cars, and I’m happy to know that Saucey is still around town.
To whomever acquired Saucey: Thanks for keepin’ him going. I hope he’s treating you as well as he treated me.
It’s been ten days since my last blog. Ten busy, busy days. Jam packed full of work, more work, and a couple days of escape. Regardless, no complaints here. Well, I suppose a few – but those are minute and will come later.
• Our new sports writer has been solo for a full week now, and tomorrow will begin week two. He’s adjusting to the way the newsroom operates, and is a welcomed addition to the team.
• The editorial staff has been sick lately, and thankfully I haven’t caught their illness. [Knock on wood]. Shawn cured his illness with NyQuil, and Matt opted for Claritin. I just keep my office door closed just and yell out to them.
• I spent last weekend in New Hampshire, my favorite place to clear my head. Two of my favorite stress relievers: A visit to The Granite State and painting my nails. I returned to New York with a clear head and refreshed spirit, only to have a ridiculously busy work week.
• I attended a court proceeding one day this week that absolutely disturbed me. Without divulging any details, I will say that I lost track of how many times my eyes became watery. Some people choose to do some disgusting things. I’ll leave it at that.
• I had interviews with various folks this week, and have a number of non-time sensitive stories in the works. Those are the ones easiest for me to cover, as editor. Stories with subject matter that can be published at any time provide me the ability to get to it as time permits, and my time is limited. I’ll be spending today writing four or five of the stories on my back-burner. As long as I have coffee, I don’t mind.
• Thursday I did a ride-along with a Chenango County Sheriff’s deputy. My mama always told me not to get in cars with strangers. I opted to disregard that piece of advice for a night, and got in a car with not only a stranger, but an armed stranger. I spent eight hours with him, and will be writing a column summing up the experience soon. Sneak preview: I signed a waiver assuming all risk and liability – up to and including death. I didn’t die. He was also a nice guy. He first majored in environmental science in college, then switched to criminal justice. Eight hours worth of material to come when time permits.
• I’ll be doing another ride-along (hopefully soon), with two NPD officers. A day shift and a night shift. I’m excited about that – and will write about that following the experience.
• Wednesday evening I’ll head up to Syracuse University to hear Ron Paul speak. Absolutely looking forward to that, and I’ll have a story – and separate opinion piece – after I return from that and have some time to write.
• On top of that, I’ll continue to build the paper every day, and continue to have a life outside of work. I didn’t have “Live for a living” inked into my shoulder for nothin’.
• As for complaints, they’re minor. I just wish people who submit posts on ’30 Seconds’ were a little more mindful and a little more thick-skinned. I don’t get offended by the personal attacks toward me. While I might not always publish them due to their vulgar nature, you have the right to ‘write’ your mind. Berating other posters is just not kind. If you read a story about … let’s say the Common Core, and have an opinion, feel free to submit something. If you just check it to say that the “‘Man from wherever’ is a jerk because of X, Y, and Z,” just save it. I’m doing my best to put a paper out, and don’t have extra hours to babysit.
• On a happier note, I’ve been at The Evening Sun for a little more than 11 months now. Neat.
Out of coffee; end blog.
I overheard Pat this morning talking about basketball. NBA vs. college. I said from my office, “I like the Mavericks.” I don’t watch sports. I have favorite teams for arbitrary reasons. My father lives in Fort Worth, so bam … Mavericks. Football, it’s the Kansas City Chiefs. But that’s a story for another day.
Anyway, Pat asked if I could name one player from the Mavericks. I could. Dirk. I also knew Jason Terry used to play for them. That’s as far as we went with that.
I didn’t have the pleasure of working with Pat for 18 years. When he started as Sports Editor I was in third grade, probably. I never played sports in school, so he never covered me. I played the cello and took dance classes.
I’ve worked with Pat since April. I remember the Post-it notes I wrote myself my first week with various reminders of writing in AP style. That Friday, I got an email from Pat that started with, “Hi Ashley, I noticed your Post-its, I hope you don’t mind me offering you a few more tips.” I didn’t mind at all. I still have the email.
Pat knows sports. He knows writing. And he knows numbers. When I need quick math, he’s my go-to guy.
He had the most interesting work area I’ve seen. Photos, newspapers, artwork, even a pillow. Dedicated to his job, no doubt about it.
If I needed help, Pat was my person. If he didn’t know how to assist, he knew an employee who could. Mind you, while there are only four of us in The Evening Sun building, there are other Snyder Communications employees that play roles, and Pat has worked with them throughout the years.
I know I’ve written before about how I’ll miss being able to hear him tapping to whatever music he is listening to each morning as he designs his pages. But I really will. I’ll miss walking out of my office to the spot where his wall is lower so I don’t have to stand on my tip-toes to talk to him about whatever-it-is we’re chatting about.
18 years. It’s like he’s all grown up and going off to college. But instead of college he’s off on a four-day road trip to New Mexico to start a brand new adventure.
I may or may not have gotten slightly emotional about his departure. I’m not tellin’.
Shaun Savarese will assume the role of Sports Writer. Pat has taken him under his wing the last couple weeks, and he’s getting the hang of things. I’m looking forward to working with him.
It’s not really my style to say it out loud, but … I’ll miss you, Pat. Best of luck, and keep in touch. I’ll keep an eye on your tree.
Also, I’m sorry I almost got in your car 27 times because ours are almost the same color.
…I don’t know if I ever told you about that.