The Making of a Female Firefighter

This is not a single post, encapsulating the story in its entirety. Rather, this is the first of many such posts to come. Today I will give you a short history of my journey into the fire service. In the coming weeks, I will describe fire school and its adventures as I encounter them. If all goes well, this story - the one that ends with my becoming a full-fledged firefighter - will conclude in February 2016.

The Dream

At age three, I announced to my Mom that I was going to be a fireman when I grew up. She smiled and said "they are called fireMEN for a reason." I remember being disappointed by the response, but not dissuaded. While growing up, I dreamed up MANY careers I wanted to pursue, but whenever I went with Mom to vote at the nearby fire station or on Christmas Eve when "Santa" would ride all over town on one of the Engines, shouting ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas!  I would look at the red gleaming apparatus and think, "I would love to be a firefighter."

The Reality

The years went by and I left for college. For the first time, I considered the viability of volunteering at the local fire dept. Overwhelmed with my studies and the responsibilities of being an RA on campus, I quickly dismissed the idea. After graduation, I moved to a new town and was preoccupied with the career I had chosen (or that had chosen me - that is a story for another day). Several years had passed by the time I heard an advertisement calling for volunteers to join the local fire dept. It got me thinking about it again, but I knew the timing wasn't right as I was planning for my second deployment. When I arrived back in the states, I heard another ad calling for volunteer firefighters, but I was living in a hotel and prepping for deployment number three. After that, I got married, moved a couple of times, and finally arrived at a stable point in my life (the most stable since I left home for college). My husband and I actually bought a house and I felt anchored to a place for the first time in my adult life. Within the week, I began googling volunteer fire departments in my county. I quickly learned there was one right down the street from our little townhouse. It took me several months to actually attend the information session they hold once a month, but when I did I went with completed paperwork in hand. I had decided I was going to do this.

The Process

I went to the County Sheriff's Office to get fingerprinted and then the waiting game began. I had no idea the process would be so slow (I realize it is different for every dept. and for each individual within those depts., but this was my experience). I waited from Halloween to New Year's before I heard anything back. I was accepted into the Company as a probationary member in January 2015. In February, I attended orientation classes. In March I took the required physical exam and was assigned to a crew. And that is when the fun started!

Now (The Probationary Period)

I have been with my crew for six months now. As a probationary firefighter, I play a supporting role, carrying tools, pulling hose, laying out traffic cones or flares - pretty much anything I can do to help the firefighters so that they can focus on the emergency at hand. I sleep at the firehouse one night per week, and wait for the calls to come in. Most nights are pretty quiet, but when the calls come in, the energy kicks into high gear. officers and the other firefighters have been teaching me everything I need to know to get through fire school.

Well, more on that at a future time. That is all for now. Till next time...

Je ne suis pas Charlie

Like many people, I didn't know anything of Charlie Hebdo prior to last week. I am sure I heard the name in passing, and probably saw some of their cartoon drawings at some point, but none of it was particularly memorable. After the terrorist attack on their office in Paris, I Googled their cartoons and was appalled by what I found. Anyone who knows me, can tell you that I am an incredibly sarcastic person. I like a good snarky comment, and have been known to enjoy an Onion or Duffle Blog article here and there. The Charlie Hebdo cartoons, however, were sacrilegious, offensive, and not at all amusing. Don't get me wrong - I am NOT condoning the terrorist attack. It is NEVER ok to kill someone because he is mocking you. And I do believe in freedom of speech. So, I do mourn with France in there loss - I mourn the deaths of their citizens. I mourn the loss of their innocence. Before now, they didn't know the enemy was within their borders, but now they do, and nothing can change that. September 11th did that to the US, allowing the average citizen to peek behind the curtain and see the darkness that some spend their lives hunting down. But unlike the millions of supporters with their Je suis Charlie signs, I am NOT Charlie. I do not agree with the things they publish, and hope to never treat the religion of another with such disrespect.

My First Attempt at Soapmaking

Over the course of the past year, I have developed a Pintrest addiction. Maybe some of you understand what I am talking about. There are just SO MANY great ideas for DIY projects and the like! I have tried many. some have failed (e.g. cutting wine bottles for use as drinking glasses), while others worked fabulously (e.g. the self-watering pot made from an empty 2 liter soda bottle). Well, my recent Pintrest-fueled obsession has been soap-making. There are so many recipes. And they look so pretty! I have been DYING to try it. After 5 months of talking about, thinking about it, and obtaining the items I would need to actual pull it off, I made my very first batch this past weekend. 

I looked at several lye calculators before I found the one I wanted to use and plugged in the types of oil I had purchased: Coconut Oil, Olive Oil, Shea Butter, and Sunflower Oil (except for the Shea Butter which I bought on Amazon.com, I purchased all oils at Wal-Mart). 

I read that more than 35% coconut oil can be drying; and too much olive oil makes a soft bar, so I tried to use both to even one another out. Then I added the shea butter for conditioning and some sunflower oil 'cause I had it.  I decided to start small and only use 16 oz. of oil total. You can see what my recipe looked like when I plugged it in:

 And here is what it looked like once I clicked on the view/print recipe:

This was what I used to know exactly what to measure out for each oil, and then how much water and lye I would need.

***Just a note on buying lye. I didn't want to pay the hazmat shipping fee, but Lowes, Home Depot, etc. in this area have stopped carrying 100% lye because of its darker uses (thank you, Breaking Bad, for teaching us such things). If you live in NoVA, the only store I found that still sells it is the Ace Hardware in Centerville. For those outside VA, I have been told Ace and True Value hardware stores are usually your best bet.

I measured each oil, beginning with the shea butter (that was the only one that needed to melt) and poured them into a pot on the stove, which I kept on "low" until the shea butter was completely dissolved (the oil heated to approx 120 degrees on the candy thermometer).

I made several mistakes in this first batch, which I will not try to hide from you. Mistake #1 was in adding the water to the lye, instead of the other way around (despite reading the cautions multiple time over). My only saving grace was that I made a small batch and used a large bowl, so despite the sizzling and smoking, the water/lye mixture didn't come anywhere near overflowing. I placed the sizzling bowl in a cold water bath (in the kitchen sink), and stirred the mixture until all the lye was dissolved.

Mistake #2 was not getting the temperature of the lye water before adding the oil. I didn't have any major problems with it, but it did take a LONG time to get to trace and I didn't know if it was because the lye water was too cold or if it was just because I had used so much olive oil in the recipe.

On the issue of tracing... after using the electric beater for 20 minutes, I began to think something was wrong. I let the blended oils/water/lye mixture sit for about 5 minutes while I read soap-making FAQs online concerning my trace issue. One recommendation was to add honey. I added approx 1 Tbs. honey, along with the essential oil (for scent) and beat it for another 10 minutes. It was still thinner than I would have liked (only because I was using a wax-paper-lined cardboard box as my mold), but I went with it anyway.

I wrapped the box in a towel and left it on the kitchen counter. 24 hours later, it was in the perfect state of hardness for cutting!

I cut the block into 6 equal rectangles and put them down in the basement to cure for the next 4-6 weeks. I will let you know how well they work (or don't work) in about a month. In the meantime, I am planning my next soap recipe... I'm thinking oatmeal honey chamomile... 

Restless

If I had to choose one word to describe myself, that would be it. I have always been restless. As a child I was always looking for adventure. In my early teen years I took to redecorating my room... every 6 months. As an adult, I've never stayed in any given career path for more than four years. I'm not sure what it is I am looking for exactly... meaning, significance, job satisfaction... all... and... none of those things.

The pastor was speaking yesterday of how the world looks for rest in all the wrong places because we can only truly find our rest in Christ. I agree with him, but even as Christians, it is still possible to feel that sense of restlessness. I really appreciate Switchfoot's song, fittingly titled "Restless." Here is the first verse:

I am the sea on a moonless night
Calling falling, slipping tides
I am the leaky, dripping pipes
The endless, aching drops of light
I am the raindrop falling down
Always longing for the deeper ground
I am the broken, breaking seas
Even my blood finds ways to bleed

I remember the first time I heard this song. It came on the radio on my way in to work. That last line, "even my blood finds ways to bleed" stuck with me for the rest of the day (I went home and bought the whole album that night). I felt like I could relate. Not only was I restless, but I was weary of my restlessness. I wanted to stop wanting to wander. Two years later, I can say that some of that has settled down a bit (I can thank my very stable husband for that), but there is still a sense in which I am still very much restless. Once again, I go back to the lyrics of that song for answers...

Until the sea of glass we meet
At last completed and complete
Where tide and tears and pain subside
And laughter drinks them dry

And there it is. Even as Christians, we will remain restless on this side of glory. We were made in His image, to spend eternity with Him, and until we can united with Him forever, restlessness tugs on our hearts, giving us that desire to go home.

A Bundle of Staves is a Heavy Burden

The pastor of the church we visited on Sunday quoted a puritan writer (he didn't say which one). It was a quote I had not heard before, but it struck me as true and relevant (despite the use of the word "staves").

"One staff aids a traveler, but a bundle of staves is a heavy burden."

 My husband and I love to hike. If the weather is good, you can find us climbing some hill or trekking through some forest on most weekends. Often, we see serious hikers on these trails. How do we know they are serious? By their camelbacks, expensive boots, and titanium (or other light-weight metal) hiking poles. Some people use one, others use two, but I have never seen a hiker with more than two poles at a time (except for a father who was carying his little girl and her hiking poles). And that father is a perfect example of how even the original two hiking poles becames a burden (not to mention the ones his daughter had been using!).

In a day and age when we are told that if some is good then more is better, the above phrase tosses modern logic on its head. There are so many instances (outside of hiking poles) that I can remember where more did NOT turn out to be better. One that quickly comes to mind is a story I posted several years ago about baking with my friend's children (feel free to read it at your liesure).

What I really took from this, though, is the need to re-evaluate. I get easily caught up in what I want and sometimes forget what is needed. Here is a list of some things I need less of, and the "more" that needs to replace it:
1. Less talking (more listening)
2. Less complaining (more gratefulness AND patience!)
3. Less procrastination (more action)
4. Less anger (more kindness)
5. Less "things" (more contentment)

Breaking Bad: Why I Hate It

When my brother-in-law began raving about this rather popular television show he was hooked on, I knew I had to check it out. After the pilot, I was disappointed and unsure what all the hype was about. By episode three, I was sure I never wanted to watch another minute of this supposedly spell-binding show. My husband didn't understand why I hated it so much, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I just couldn't take anymore darkness in my life. My work-life is steeped in the worst humanity has to offer. Every day I see images of death and destruction. I listen to evil men, praising their "god" for the successful destruction of their enemies (of whom, I am one). Watching a fake story of dark life, sinking into further darkness, with no hope of redemption is not something I find entertaining. Despite my lack of desire to watch the show, my curiosity about the grand finale (Felina), everyone was so eagerly anticipating, got the best of me. I had to read the cliff notes version of how the series ended. What I read did not surprise me in the least. It was the only possible ending for a man who had become addicted to a power-high. I can appreciate that the writers did not force the story, but rather let the characters they created mold the plot. The pilot is rather unlikely (most high-school chem teachers don't think of meth-making as their first course of action upon learning they have cancer), but once that decision is made, Walt makes all the expected bad choices and the rest of the story follows accordingly. There are several pivotal points in Walt's story, where it seems that he can undo the bad and prevent the breaking, but his wavering does not last for long and his bad choices compound on one another. The first one that I saw was when he killed Crazy-8 (the first killing I dismissed as self-defense). Had he let the dealer go, I as the viewer, could have forgiven his past sins and seen him as a generally good guy who went through a short, yet insane lapse of judgment (of course that would be the end of the series, three episodes in, and that would never happen). Once he kills Crazy-8 though, it is obvious (or at least it was to me) that he had crossed a line he could never come back from. Regardless of my husband's desire for Walt's redemption, I knew redemption was not going to be an option. Revenge and self-preservation could be the only plot-lines throughout the five seasons that made up Walt's "life." The second decision point was when Walt had made his first several million dollars. If he were really doing of it for his family, he could have taken the money, invested it for his wife and kids - or at the very least, hidden it somewhere for them, and then disappeared off into the sunset, never putting them through the torture of knowing what he had become. His decision to continue making meth makes it clear that he was in the drug-lord business for himself - not his family. It was no longer a means to an end, but had become an end in itself. I guess the real problem I have with the show is how the writers WANT you (the viewer) to sympathize with Walt and Jesse. Never mind the DEA agent (who was MY favorite character). They kill him off and we are supposed to watch and rejoice that a killer is safe from the big bad "Fed." I got tired of hearing my husband defend Walt's actions and portray him as the victim. He was the victim of his own sinful desires and nothing else. Walt was the BAD GUY. He hurt his family and everyone around him. That is NOT love. "Love is patient. Love is Kind. It is NOT proud..." The writers successfully made good look evil and evil look good... and that is what I hated about Breaking Bad. In the end, Walt does die alone, which, I suppose, is Gilligan's nod to justice, but it doesn't seem like enough to me. There is no silver lining to this story. It is a sad story. And the saddest part is that much of it is true. Every day families are torn apart because of drugs and drug-related crimes. The Walts and Jesses of this world are a scourge on society. The world would be a better place without them.