Story of the Day 9/ 24/ 2012 #1

My brother called.
The older one.
I am not sure the younger one has ever called me. From him I get occasional Facebook messages. Hey, at least he accepted my friend request!

So, my older brother called me.
He is the father of three children.
Despite the fact that he is older than I am, his children are younger than mine.
That is why he has more grey hair than I do.
Well, and the fact that I actually am younger than he is....oh, and the fact that I use Excellence by L'oreal.

He tells me that two of his kids are going to start taking violin lessons.
I ask him if it will be a Suzuki program or a modified Suzuki program.
He has no idea.
He also has no idea how to go about purchasing the right "starter" violins for his children.
He thinks that I, who have more years of experience , and more grey hairs ( if I ever stop dying them) might know.
I laugh.
He has forgotten one important thing.
My children
are deaf.
They didn't have violin lessons.

There is a moment of silence as he digests this information.
"Oh yeah."

Okay, I had a token hearing child.
Hey, it is good to experience different things every now and then.
And that child had music lessons.
Piano.
Saxophone.
Drums.
But no violin.
If I'd had a second child, well I did have a second child and a third, but a second child who could hear, we might have garnered the volin lesson experience. But we didn't.

Our grandfather could have helped.
He played the violin.
For the Cleveland Symphony Orcehstra.
And , sometimes, for the Grand Old Opry.
And on movie soundtracks.
But he has been dead for about 35 years.
So he isn't taking phone calls from my older brother or from me..
Or Facebook messages from my younger brother.

I suggested that my brother call one of our younger sisters.
The one that has three children.
Who can hear.
They all had music lessons.
Piano.
And Saxophone.
And I am pretty darn sure one of them even played the violin.

At any rate, she had three possibilities...I mean, opportunities, so he is more likely to get help from her.

Story of the Day 9/ 12/ 2012

My friend was telling me, today, how her two teenaged sons, both in high school, seem to have discovered that they can google all kinds of things.

This has gotten them into a bit of hot water with her and her husband.

That is because her husband found the they were accessing porn sites.
And, like many things in the "Age of Information" porn ain't what it used to be.
It is rather more " active" than whatever it was back in "the day".

Her husband decided to do two things- he restricted their internet access, and he bought them a couple of copies of Playboy magazine, which, as he said, should sate their hormonal instincts , but in a more restrained manner.

He was especially upset, though, because when the kids did their "search" they misspelt the word " vagina".
After all, these are bright boys. Well educated, even.
Although, hopefully, not too much via the internet.

Story of the Day 9/ 7/ 2012

My son, the one who is in graduate school, not the one who spends his days wandering in the park and doing pull ups, has a professor whom he describes as robotic.
He is emotionally " cold", he has flat affect, and, of course, he teaches computer applications.
His name is Dayton.

Which is a problem.

Like the rest of the family, my son loves Star Trek- although, we all argue over which series are worthwhile.
So, he has been inadvertently calling this teacher by the wrong name.
To his face.
"Data."

But my son thinks that the professor might not have noticed.
We hope.

And I had to admit that I would also be hard pressed to get the name right.
Especially now that I have been told this....

That is, however, not the most interesting part of the story.
The most interesting part is that this teacher's office window looks onto the men's bathroom.
Not that the teacher cares .
But, who designed this building?
Especially since it is part of the architectural program?

Story of the Day 8/ 21/ 2012

I spent this morning at the Deaf School in a conference for a young man who has transferred from Arsenal Tech High School to the Indian School for the Deaf.
Arsenal Tech is this huge high school in the Indianapolis Public School system.

There were a number of good reasons for this young man to transfer.
He had missed out on a lot of educational opportunities because the interpreter was bad. Really bad.
She was the sort of bad that comes with an attitude.
She would decide she didn't feel like interpreting, and she would just sit there and not interpret.
He was isolated from his peers because of language- they didn't sign, he doesn't' hear and the interpreter problem wasn't helping.
But the real reason he wanted to transfer was that he was afraid.

At this high school, he was constantly aware of bullying, fighting, weapons and drugs and he wanted out.
He was even afraid to ride to school on the school bus.

I was telling this to a nice young woman , this evening, during a break in the drawing session.
I also told her that , at the previous conference ( at Arsenal Tech) , I was favorably impressed with one of the teachers, but not so favorably impressed with another.
The one that didn't impress me was supposed to be working with him on his writing goals. The writing goals were vague they didn't relate to the state standards and when asked how he was doing the response was" Well , he is behind. he is not on grade level."
And when pushed to answer what level he was on, she replied , twice , that she didn't know.
When I asked how she could be working with him if she had no idea what level he was on, she replied that the information was somewhere ...like on a computer and she could look it up. She seemed to entirely miss the point that it was a bad sign that she had been working with him for an entire academic year and was supposed to be prepared to present information at the conference we were at and,yet, had no idea what his level was.

The young lady I told this to wasn't surprised.

She told me that she was supposed to have gone to this same high school, but just before her freshman year, her parents decided to enroll her in Cathedral High School- a parochial school that has a good reputation.

The school year was going nicely and , at the end of the first semester she got a big surprise.
Apparently, some piece of paper wasn't filled out, and Arsenal Tech still thought she was a student at their school. So, she was sent a report card for the classes she should have been taking if she was there.

And she failed every single class.
Which is not surprising since she hadn't been in school or taken one test or handed in one homework assignment during the entire semester.

Whoops, sorry, that is not true.
You see, she failed almost every class.

She passed Spanish.
The teacher gave her a D.

This is probably because she was nice and quiet and didn't make any trouble.

At least, that is the only reason this young woman could figure out.

Story of the Day 8/ 20/ 2012

It was Back to School Night, or Open House or whatever they call it.

My husband and I made sure we didn't have spaghetti sauce dribbled down our clothes or faces, and that our flies were zipped; and we headed off to meet the teachers, hear what they were teaching and how they were grading things and try to get more of an idea of what Sarah's day looks like.

There was the Psychology teacher, who was pretty much as Sarah had described.
And despite Sarah's fears, we were not pulled aside and told some weird things about our daughter.
At least not by the teacher.

There was Chemistry.
This is the teacher who was very nervous to have a deaf kid in his class.
Since, as you know, you know, deaf people bite.
It is now the third week of school and he is , apparently, still nervous. Even though Sarah hasn't bitten him.
Yet.
My husband and I decided to not ruin his image of her, and we did not introduce ourselves.
Now he can just keep on wondering what sorts of weird folk would have deaf kid.

Then there was Calculus.
The Calculus teacher loves Calculus.
She even said so.
She explained to us what I had already explained to Sarah, that the students are better off getting the IU college credit for the class and not taking the AP exam.
The Psychology teacher said pretty much the same thing.
It is nice to know that occasionally I might be right.
(Don't repeat that to my children.)
But the highlight of the evening was English.

I bet you thought it was when Sarah's film teacher told us her was signed up to take an ASL class.
That was a bit of a highlight- the idea that one of the teachers would actually try to communicate directly with her...
but it wasn't the highlight.

The highlight was English.

Sarah's English teacher told us the exact same thing she told Sarah, the first day of class.
She had Sarah's brother, our son, Aaron.
In National Honor Society.
For two years.

We were all surprised that he mad such an impression on her.
Especially since he was never in National Honor Society.

I am sure of this.

Over the years all three of our children have been offered to apply for membership.
Ely was the first.
Ely read the information and said he didn't want to bother.
My husband and I were surprised. We had both been members and though it was a good thing to put down when applying for college and why would our child not want to do it?
Then we read the papers.
You had to jump through several hoops and a barrel.
While it was on fire.
We looked at each over and had to admit , out-loud, that Ely was right and it wasn't worth the bother.

Then , a few years later, Aaron got the same papers.
This time, we told him it wasn't worth the bother, before he even opened his mouth.

Then, when Sarah got the papers, we all laughed when we saw that they wanted her to volunteer tutor for 200 hours. Or 20 hours, or whatever.
She was the only deaf student in her high school. She is the only one who knew ASL.
As a matter of fact, during most of her time at North Central High School she really was THE ONLY ONE WHO KNEW ASL, because until the most recent interpreter, the school had this habit of hiring interpreters who didn't.

So, whom would she have tutored? One of the lousy interpreters?
"This is how you do not sign vertical angles...."

But this nice young woman , very sincerely, tells us how much she enjoyed having Aaron in the National Honor Society. And we smile and nod, because anything else would be...too hard to explain.

And then she asks what he is doing now.
My husband answers, "He is back at home."
And the teacher replies, " Oh , he graduated from college?"
Because in this great recession, that is a rather typical scenario.

I think I may have burst her bubble a bit when I told her, "No he dropped out of college."

Of course, I added, " and then he went to a yeshivah for a while, and now he is taking an EMT class and taking very long naps everyday."

But, on the other hand, maybe this will fit in very well with the alternate reality she already has for him.

Story of the Day 8/16/ 2012 #3

I thought I was down for the evening.

I wasn't.

My husband gives me a bill that came in the mail.
Well, bill is really the wrong term. A bill is something you get that you have to pay.
This was already paid, with our charge card.
It was an invoice. An invoice that was charged to our charge card for products to be sent to Michigan. To a very familiar name and address in Michigan.
This is the same name and address that the other invoice we got, the one from J and M clothing company was for.
The other invoice- invoice being the correct term- was for something we did not order for someone we have need heard of......another instance of our charge card being used by someone else.

Didn't I call and cancel that card?
I did.
I had.

I call the Discover people, again.
I wonder if they are getting as tired of hearing from me as I am getting tired of calling them.

I explain about the fraudulent charge. I ask if they will investigate this person who is getting shipments of clothes and other things from purchases made with our card.
Apparently, they do have a fraud investigation department, but it is NOT the same department to which you report your card being lost or stolen and to whom I have been calling all of these occasions when our Discover card is being "enjoyed" by people we have never head of- like the person in Africa who ordered 21 laptops ( one each from 21 different internet sites).

I am transferred.

I explain to a new woman, in Ohio, about how this is the second invoice we have received indicating that "we" have ordered and paid for goods to be shipped to the same person in Michigan.
I ask if they will investigate if this woman has been using our card.

The young lady on the phone says, "Yes." they will.

We both now know that this woman wears a rather large size and has acne. We know this because of the clothing order, and because the invoice I have just called about is from Proactiv.
She has signed up to receive regular shipments of their product.

I explain to the fraud department lady that there is another fraudulent charge on our card.

After we hang up, I become curious.

I look this woman up on the internet.
She is 46 years old.
Maybe the acne medication is for her teenager.

She lives with someone named Michael.
I do not know if that is her boyfriend or brother or her teenager.

And then I do what any normal American would do after having their charge card used.


I check out her Facebook page.

Michael isn't her boyfriend. She is getting married to someone named Stephen.
She likes Justin Beiber.
She is 46 and she likes him?


She also needs a better profile picture.

I resist the urge to leave message for her saying, " Pay for your own shit!", but I decide that if I am going to do that, I should gets second Facebook account under an alias. something like " God".

I resist the urge to do this, because I figure that she didn't learn morals from her family , and she is 46, so she probably wouldn't learn anymore from the "god" of Facebook.

Also,


I don't' want to be accused of erecting an idol or something.
I wonder if Facebook has laws against that.

Anyhow, she is 46 and she likes Justin Beiber.
I figure there is no hope for her.

Story of the Day 8/ 16/ 2012 #2

Just before going to bed, I checked my email.
That is a stupid thing to do.
I know it is a stupid thing to do.
So why did I do it?
I am stupid.

On Facebook, I had a message. Now, you might be snooty and think that checking Facebooook is not checking my emial, but you are wrong. This is because it is the only email /messaging link I have for a few people. For two of my nieces, for one ex( now grown) foster kid, and for another young man who used to live with us.
He is 18. An adult.
And he sent me a message.
Am I coming to his case conference.

If you do not know what a case conference is, we have nothing in common.
That is because for the past two decades, my life has revolved around them.
These are the meetings you have with your kids' schools to set up and maintain the special education services.
I have been to hundreds of them.
At least.

I maintain my sanity by not counting them.

I have attended them for my children, for the children who have lived with us and were temporarily ours, for friends, and , for several years as a parent advocate for an agency that has a grant from the Department of Education.

I no longer work for that agency. I no longer attend case conferences a sa parent advocate.

I left that job because after years of having a supervisor who screamed and was bit of an anti-Semite ( and when I mean screamed, she never screamed at me, but I had a number of parents tell me that she had screamed at them on the phone when they called for information, and other advocateds told me the same), we got a new supervisor, who was, we though, better; until she decided that Jesus was part of the office. The office that gets public Department of Education dollars.
And I do not work for Jesus.
So I left.


Now, I attend case conferences for my daughter, for my good friend's child, and on a very , very rare instance, for a child who used to live with us .
After all, as a friend observed, some of us have more than one mother. And you never walk away from that job.

So, I had a Facebook message asking if I was coming to this young man's conference.
And he wasn't on Facebook. Which is good.
If he was, I would have needed to yell at him ( via Facebook) to get to bed, since it was a school night.

But what conference and when is the conference?
Is it tomorrow morning? Do I need to be up and dressed and headed somewhere at 7 AM or 7:30 AM and I don't know about it?
I message him.
Why am I messaging him, he is off Facebook, that isn't going to help!

It is 11 PM.

I call his mother.
I wake her up.
Crap.

At least the conference is not tomorrow morning.

It is next Tuesday.
At 8:30 AM; so, on that day, I will need to be nicely dressed ( heck, I might even comb my hair), and out the door at 7:30 AM.
But , at least, it is not tomorrow.

I check the calendar.
Heck, I didn't' really want to go to the doctor, next Tuesday.

I tell her to let her son know that I will be there.
Then I leisurely send him another message on Facebook and ask what he wants from the school and the school year.

I almost add, "And , next time, call me!"
But I realize he might have.
He only has my home phone number, and I wasn't home, and we don't' have an answering machine, and the kid I left at home ( the one who called that the tickets were still sitting on the dining room table) is deaf and probably only stuck his hearing aids on long enough to make the one call to me, then took them out and went back to being unable to hear the phone ringing.

And , whatever other mothers say in complaining bout Facebook, I am sure that God invented it , just like she invented Google.
For the mothers of teenagers.

Story of the Day 8/ 16/ 2012 - part 1

Sarah and I were in a rush. Tonight is the first post-Olympics WNBA game.
Well, really, games. I think there are 5 of them , altogether, so 10 teams are meeting in 5 cities- getting back into the season in a rush.
But the important one is the one that is taking place in downtown Indianapolis, and for which we have tickets.

Our home town team- the Fever- is playing against the Washington Mystics.
I put my wallet, camera and cell phone in the purse I always take to the games. It is a purse that my friend Harriet, who is known far-and-wide ( as long as far-and-wide means our neighborhood and also parts of California) as the purse-queen, gave to me.
It has the ideal configuration to be my "take to the game " bag.
It has a pocket for the cell phone, a pocket for the camera, and a pocket for the tickets.
Oh, and it is just the right shape for the program to fit in without getting bent.

So, I put those things in, then I go to the envelop that has our parking passes and tickets for the next couple of games, and take out the ones for tonight , and put them in the purse. And , being well-organized- I also take our MVP necklace passes. Once we are at the game, if we want to go and get a drink of water or use the bathroom ( that last one is me, Sarah NEVER uses a public restroom) , we can stick a ticket into it and not have to carry anything.
Sarah, meanwhile, is eating a snack, and then there is thunder.

I am thrilled.
It has been a long, hot, dry summer.
We are in the midst of an " extreme" drought.
It was a wet spring, then a dry start to summer which quickly turned into a sought, and then a severe drought, and , finally, an extreme drought.
This means that the corn aint' growing, and the grass is yellow and goes crackle-crackle if you walk on it; and when it is only 85, it feels almost cool.

Thunder seems to promise something, like .....dare I say it? rain.

And, soon enough, there are real live honest to gosh drops of water falling- and I am hoping it is more than just a 5 minute deal that teases the plants and the people.

It is not.
The rain comes down harder, and there is more lightning and thunder.
And now, Sarah tells me that she thinks we should not go to the game.

What? Why?
I can't believe she is afraid of getting wet. I explain that we are parking in the covered parking building attached to the arena.
It isn't' that. She has decided it is dangerous to be in the car during a storm....

I do what any intelligent mother of a teenager would do.
I do not argue.
I turn to God. I mean to Google ( which God was kind enough to create for the this purpose) and pull up a scientific article ( but one that is written for a 6th grader- meaning me) that explains why it is NOT dangerous to be in a car when it is storming.

And it is not for the reason that I thought.

Somehow, I believed it was safe because of the rubber tires insulating you from the electricity of the storm- but, in fact, that is not true, it has to do with something like the car dispersing the lightning or deflecting it or something.
Anyhow, it doesn't matter, because Google said it is safe, so it is.
And without my needing to argue with my teenager.
Thank God!
I mean Google!

And so we are off, but a bit late.
And that is not good because the cars are backed up from this accident and that lane being flooded, and because the visibility is not great and the roads are slick and.... I am not becoming popular parent.
That is because it now looks as if we will be arriving late.

And then my phone rings.
My cell phone.
And I let Sarah know.
That is because she is deaf and cannot hear it ringing.
And then we both ignore it, because I have a rule. I do not answer or talk on the phone when I am driving.
I also do not text, or read texts ( a fine point of distinction for one of my children....which caused an argument. The argument might have been avoidable , but we were in the car and Google wasn't readily available.)

And we drove and drove and drove, and arrived.
Late.

We parked the car, after a detour that ate up a few more minutes- there was construction- and took the escalator down to the lobby.

While we were going down, I pull out the tickets to present to the ticket taker, and
I realize that I have grabbed the wrong tickets.
They are the tickets for August 26th or 28th or something.
And they are not the ones for tonight.
And now I have to tell Sarah.

I am definitely not anyone's favorite parent.

She says, "We will go home!

I tell her, "No, I will buy two more tickets."
That is expensive...especially since we got our tickets at a bargain rate and now we will have to take whatever is available, at a not bargain rate, and have paid twice to see the game.
But I tell her this, because being late is bad enough.

Then I see a staff person I have met several times and know to be friendly.
Instead of going to the ticket window, I go to her and I explain the situation and ask what we should do.
She tells me to go to the window and explain, and if they can't just print new copies of our original tickets, to have them call the person we got them from.

Sarah and I go over to the ticket window- where there is no line, because most people have alread gone into the game.
The woman takes my information.
She tells me that people do this all the time.
They do?
I am not a unique idiot, it seems, just an idiot.
And she gives us the freshly printed replacement tickets.
I have been standing and waiting and have stuck the necklace thing around my neck, so, unlike before a typical game, I stick the tickets into the holder, now, instead of after we are already taking our seats.

We go past security, they do not seems to think we are as dangerous as the airport people do and they take a glance in my purse and smile at Sarah and wave us through.
Then the ticket guy scans our tickets and we go up the stairs to pick up programs for the game.


At the top of the stairs are two very young staff-tshirted women.
They have clipboards.
One of them says something to me about court.
A basketball court?

She has a quiet ,polite voice.
She is very cute, she loosk about 17 , and I tell her that I don't hear well and would she mind not being so polite and talk loudly....
She asks if we want court side seats.

Not the row that is on the "floor", but the cushy two-seater thing that they invite two season ticket holders to sit in at each game.
Appparently, they invite two season ticket holders who are wearing their neck chains - which we never do ( except to go to the bathroom)- but I happen to have put on, while waiting for the new tickets to be printed.
I am not even sure why, except that I was standing with nothing else to do.
And they must also have been looking for two ticket holders who...show up late.

All of the sudden,miracle f miracles, I am no longer in trouble with my teenager.
It is amazing what a difference good seats make.


We get to our seats.
I put my purse down and pull out my cell phone.
I am curous to see who it was who called me while we were driving here.

It was Aaron, my middle child.

Boy, he didn't wait for very long after we had left the house to call. A little less than ten minutes, I guess.
I push the button to hear the message. At its loudest, I can't hear anything. I text him to tell him that. I ask if it was anything important.

He texts back,
"I think u left the tickets here."

He is right.

Story of the Day 8/ 15/ 2012

My son, the 21 year old, loves the public library.
We all love the public library.

Yes, we have stacks and stacks of books not just on the book shelves, which are stacked three deep, but atop chairs and tables and counters and in piles on the floor. And we know every nook and cranny of the nearest bookstore. In fact, we drool when the name of it is mentioned. But we also love the library, which is good because otherwise we might not have enough money left over for food and we might have to sleep atop piles of books......

But even in our family, there are levels of love- and my son, Aaron, LOVES the public library.

When he was in high school , he would often go to the library 3 times a week. He would come home with stacks of movies....yes, VHS tapes and DVDs, and even a few books about movies, thrown in. And , once or twice, the book upon which a film was based.
He was so well known that he ended up working at the small local library which is private ,but part of the public library loan system. first as a volunteer and later as a paid helper.

And most of the time, he was even pretty good about getting all of those things back to the library on time.
Most of the time.

The problem is that most of the time is not always.
And videos are a $1 a day fine.

I did not know about this.
I did not know about this because Aaron has his own library card and because the Library would allow him to check out more things , regardless of the amount he owed.
They would.
But, it seems, their policy has changed, and he was confronted with that fact, today, when he and Sarah went o the Library after he picked her up from school.

Aaron was being checked out- I mean his books were- oh, he has, in his religious phase, pretty much stopped borrowing videos and has become a book borrower. This means that he makes substantially fewer trips to the Library, since he reads more slowly than he watches.
So, he was checking out his books, only he wasn't because the computer wasn't allowing it, and the librarian had to come over and help him...becasue the Libarry has changed its policy and Aaron had to pay the fine....or not get to take the books home with him.

Now, to be honest, Aaron very recently did mention that he had a large fine that he had owed for a few years. After all, he is 21 ,ad the fine dates back to high school. He totally startled me when he told me this. He also refused to say how big the fine was, but admitted it might be in the $50 range....might be. But that he was hoping to earn some money and pay it, himself.

Of course, if you haven job that is hard. And he hasn't had one, not since he got home from Israel and not since he told me about the fine; so when the librarian, today, told him that he needed to pay the fine, Aaron took out the money he had, in his wallet, and handed it to the man.

And the man looked at the dollar bill and told him that it wouldn't do, he had to pay the entire chocolately confection. I mean the entire fine.

Sarah told me that Aaron tried, again to offer the man the dollar, and the man again reiterated this new rule.

So, Aaron got out his charge card, the card that his parents pay, the one that is to pay for gasoline and groceries for the household ( what we can afford after buying books) and emergencies. And he paid the fine.

After all, not being able to check things out from the library is an emergency.

Story of the Day 8/ 11/ 2012

My husband received an invoice in the mail. It thanked him for purchasing some things that were sent to a woman in Michigan.

Whom he has never heard of.
Neither have I.
Nor have we ever heard of this company.

My husband looks it up on the internet.
It is a clothing company.
And we have apparently paid for $208 worth of clothes to be shipped to this person whom we don't know in Michigan.

It wasn't our cash and it wasn't our check , so it seems suspicious that it was our charge card. But which one?

My husband sends the company an email.
He explains that we have no idea who this person in Michigan is and that we certainly did not order anything shipped to her, and please tell us how the payment was made.


On Monday, he gets an email back from the company.
It pays to Discover.
At least for the person who got our card number and my husband's name and made the order.


I call Discover and they cancel our card.
Again.
This is the 4th time in a year. the 5th time in a year and a half that someone has used our Discover card.

Meanwhile, my husband has to change our billing information for the newspaper, and the telephone company and the........

When I reported this misuse of our account, the lady at Discover told me that they now have 150 different designs that we can choose from, for our new card.
At no cost.
I admit, I was not considering getting a "fancy" one until I heard that second part.
I thought a moment and asked if they had a WNBA design.
"No."

I told her , then, that I didn't' care what design she gave us.

This was probably mistake on my part.
I should have asked her which design looks best after it has gone through the washer and dryer on high heat, since, while I have never had a lost or stolen card ( just the numbers), I do have tendency to "launder" my money.

I am, however, taking suggestions from people- if you can think of a good design that would look best after being somewhat deformed.

After all, I might as well have my choice ready, since I get a new Discover card about 4 times a year now due to fraudulent activity.

https://www.discover.com/credit-cards/member-benefits/card-design.html

Story of the Day 8/ 9/ 2012

I was driving home from Herron.
I go to Herron on Tuesday and Thursday evenings. Herron is the art school of a local university. On Tuesday and Thursday evening they have " alumni" open drawing. That means that alumni, current students , and people like me who just happen to live in Indianapolis go , draw from the model for 3 hours, and chip in a few dollars. Well, the art students don't have to chip in, and the few dollars is usually $5, but those are just details.

Sometime I carpool, sometimes I don't, and I almost always have a cup of coffee at 5 PM. That is so I am not too tired to drive home at 10:30 or 11 PM , but also not so revved up that i can't sleep when I do get home.

The coffee is especially useful on evenings when I do not have stimulating company to converse with on the drive and on evenings like tonight when it is very dark.

My family lives in Indianpolis, in the city, but only because in the 1990's Indianapolsi decided to incorporate all of it's suburbs. well, all of the ones that were in the same county.
As a result, we live in the city in a neighborhood where the houses sit lots that are at least half an acre in size and there are no sidewalks and almost no street lights. Oh, and the city doesn't' plow our streets , in the winter.

The dearth of street lights is an issue, late at night, especially , tonight when it has been storming. Rain, thunder, lightning, and more rain.
While at Herron, the radio's "emergency weather alert" went off numerous times. Heavy winds, possible tornados. We were in the path of the storm, but, at least, not the worst part of it - which was south of us.

So, I was driving home with low visibility, but still with a bit of caffeine propping me up.

I made a full stop at the 3 way stop at 64th street and Spring mill. It is sort of a 4 way stop. The park is on the right/east of me as I head north, and they also have a stop sign for people coming out of their parking area, but the park is closed, this late, so it is just the two directions on Springmill, and 64th on the left that have signs. There are no other cars, but I am one of those annoying people who drive the speed limit. Yes, I am the person you honk at and flash your middle finger at because I am driving 25 or maybe even 26 in the school zone. It has something to do with my vocabulary. You see, I seem to think that the word 'limit" means " limit". Obviously, I have a learning disability.

I also happen to think that the word "stop" on the red and white sign actually means "stop", so I do. Even when I am the only car there at 10:37 PM.

So, I stop, I start up slowly and turn left , headed east on 64th.
About 50 feet after I turn, I see a shape lying in the other lane- the westbound lane/. There is no street light to illuminate it, but there is a slight glint- from two spots and I think it may be a deer- whose eyes are reflecting some light back to me.

I pass it , and think, from what I see out of the side of my vision, that it is a person who is lying there.
I must be wrong.
Maybe it is a bag of trash. But I think it might not be.

I make a left at the nearest street and turn around in a driveway. This street is completely unlit. I drive back, slowly, towards the deer or person or trash.

At a little less than 20 feet, I can see that it is a person. And he is pulling himself up, the part of him that is not under his bike..He has his head and shoulders raised a bit.
I stop my car and put on my flashers.

I get out and start to walk towards him. I realize that he has no helmet. He is wearing dark shorts and a dark t-shirt and is black, and the reflections I saw were two small reflectors on his bike's wheels- that reflected poorly since they were down at a bad angle and in an unlit spot. I am surprised I saw him , at all.

I ask him, as I walk towards him, "Are you all right?"

" I wiped out. The road is wet and a I wiped out."

Maybe he thinks I thought a car had hit him and left him there- actually, I hadn't thought anything - other than "Where is your helmet?"
Oh, and that I am glad I came past him from the other lane. I think I would have spotted him in time and stopped, but I can't be 100% sure- he is barely visible, even if you know what to look for.

I am even more sure of that because a moment later, an SUV comes by in the other lane. he stops because he sees my flashers and me standing there- and asks if I am okay before he realizes there is a cyclist down in the other lane.

Then he asks if the young man is all right. He says he is and gets to his feet.

Then he asks where Guion Road is.........

And, after getting directions from the driver of the SUV, takes off- on the unlit roads.
He was also going the wrong direction when he wiped out.

My house is less than a mile away. I drive very slowly.
I will probably have two cups of coffee, next week.