Eight Feet Deep

A few minutes ago at the Wash-and-Dry I saw this sign on the restroom door:

“Please Knock Door”

Now I realize there could have been some cultural relevancy at work here as to how the phrase was presented. I speak of leaving out the word “on” if that was indeed what happened.

The woman who runs the laundromat is Vietnamese and I am not sure of what type of customs they have such as whether it brings them or anyone good luck by insulting a door.

So I said: “You’re the worst freaking door I’ve seen all day.”

I have to leave now and buy a lottery ticket.

With all good intentions I set about to write today about the dual hosts of CNN’s “American Morning,” John Roberts and Kiran Chetry. The traditional network morning shows have long been too feet-first into Good Housekeeping for me and “Fox and Friends” are too reactionary.

But I instantly became hung up because I didn’t know if I did or did not know John Roberts. There is no good reason I would know him except for the fact that he was a White House correspondent for CBS News and I was around the traveling White House gang for awhile when Gee Dubya would visit Crawford. I believe every time I went to Crawford though I saw Mark Knoller, whom after looking at you might be surprised that he would even be allowed within the same zip code as the president.

Of course, I didn’t really know Mark Knoller nor John Roberts nor any of the White House press. That is, I didn’t know them to any degree with the exception of having conversations with a few of them at one time or another.

So I guess what really put me off track was thinking about quantifying the word “know.” You think: What did I know and when did I know it?

Me: I knew what I knew at the time that I knew it. Knew, knew, knew, which if pronounced with the “k” not silent sounds like somewhat of a weak sneeze, which I have. Not weak sneezes but weak knees.

But I don’t understand.

No. Of course you don’t. But look at the dictionary.

know
–verb (used with object) 1. to perceive or understand as fact or truth; to apprehend clearly and with certainty: I know the situation fully.

And then that’s just the first entry.

As well there is:

7. Archaic. to have sexual intercourse with.
–verb (used without object)

Ah yes, I knew her well. I knew her in the airplane’s lavatory. I knew her …

Therefore, you might well know just what a quandary that this word “know” has put me into this day. I don’t know what I will do about it. Probably nothing. Sometimes that is all one knows to do.

I don’t think I’d touch this caption with a ten-foot Pole, Ryszard.

El Paso firefighters battle a 1977 fire.

The word “hero” is bandied about quite a bit these days. Some might even say the term is tossed about too freely. The nine firefighters who were killed in Charleston, S.C., are among the latest to be pronounced heroes.

Since 9/11 and the subsequent War on Terror, the public refers to all military personnel and emergency services workers as heroes. But I am willing to bet a majority of those engaged in such occupations do not see themselves as such.

Certainly, I never saw myself as hero when I braved paper cuts as a legal secretary in the Navy. Nor did I do anything particularly heroic other than my job during the five years I worked as a firefighter. During those times — in the late 1970s — the public did not have use “hero” to describe service members, firemen and cops. In fact, some people held those who wore any kind of uniform in contempt thanks to the Vietnam war.

That’s not to say I was ever spat upon when wearing either the uniform of a firefighter or a sailor. Well, perhaps a baby or two spit up on me. And, for better or worse for me, there was that whole “love-a-man-in-uniform” thing sometimes in the small college town where I worked as a fireman.

But I wouldn’t hesitate to say that most the people I have known either in the military or fire services would have ever thought themselves as heroic. It was just what they did or do.

The nine Charleston firefighters died looking for people who others thought were trapped inside the building. So I wouldn’t at all say it was a stretch to call them heroes.

Words which are used excessively lose their vitality after time. Calling everyone who faces death by signing the dotted line and donning a uniform a hero might someday dampen the impact of really heroic deeds. On the other hand, there are a lot worse heroes one might worship than the men and women who put their life on the line for others.

Click here for more information from the city of Charleston’s Web page, which includes where one might donate to the fund established for the families of the fallen firefighters.

After finishing work a little early, I had a few minutes that I thought I could spend blogging. However, it has come to my attention that I really have nothing to blog about. That is other than the VA sent me a blood pressure prescription in the mail that I didn’t order from a doctor (a physician’s assistant in reality)whom I didn’t see. I look forward to hearing from this PA and what he has to say about sending me an unsolicited medication, the blogger said facetiously.

I’m taking the rest of the day off from blogging as well. After all, it IS Tuesday!