Emotional roller coaster part 1

I want to describe how I feel to you and I don’t know how to do it.

I can only equate this emotion by asking you to imagine yourself having an adopted child. One you wanted very much. Imagine that you searched years to find the perfect match. During your search every day you knew something was missing in your life and when you finally ended the quest you knew that your soul was completed. You love this child, you raise them and watch them blossom beyond your wildest expectations growing into their own person of grace, compassion, kindness and comfort to others. You marvel at how you have been blessed to have this child in your life. Then imagine that this child has a physical condition requiring intravenous medication every few days, a life giving treatment that this child would die without. Along comes a doctor who knows how to make this medication. Not just administer it but he can create it. But he’s a busy guy and can only do it once a year. The doc not only creates this medication for your family but he does so without a fee. The doc simply shrugs it off, smiles the smile of a savior and tells you he does it because through you he also has come to love this child too and just knowing he can help your family stay healthy brings him great joy and the joy is payment enough. Can you possibly imagine how grateful you would feel? The overwhelming appreciation for another person who can create the means for survival of someone for whom you would sacrifice everything, a gratitude so great that when you try to express it no words really are appropriate.

I have often said Queens Galley is my baby, a member of my family and loved with a fervor matched by my maternal love and parental pride I have for my daughters. Queens Galley, my child, has grown into something far beyond anything I could have ever imagined. I always knew that helping people would feel good but the scope and reach of what I am blessed to be able to do because of Queens Galley is beyond the realm of my wildest dreams. It’s like expecting to go to the neighborhood playground and ending up at Disney World. With the intensity of this good comes the immensity of the work; the reality that to keep Queens Galley alive I spend a great deal of time looking for money. I find it under cushions (small fundraisers) and behind shelves (food drives). Sometimes it arrives on its own like a birthday card in the mail from an aunt that always knows exactly what you want. All of these things come together slowly and they serve not just as a source of revenue but a small yet consistent reminder that we are not alone. The people we serve do not struggle alone because we are never alone in the work we do to keep going. There are always hands to help and because of this the herculean task is made more manageable. Then, once a year, I get a call from WBPM. A familiar voice says “hey it’s that time”; Time for the “Rally for the Galley”. Don Verity, the WBPM station manager, and I meet, we talk about potential sponsors, break out the to-do lists and we part until the big day.

When it arrives “ it” doesn’t officially begin for me until a specific moment. The Rally for the Galley doesn’t really begin until I get that hello hug from Jack Hammer . The rally was Jack’s idea. He’s the doc who makes the medicine that saves the life of the Queens Galley. Who knew that angels wore leather and Ray bans?
This year going into the rally was unsettling. In previous years I had always been there for set up at 5:30 am in the Verizon wireless parking lot. Saying hello, sharing some of Dave’s outrageous breakfast pizza from Angela’s with Jack and Andre and getting my hug from Jack. This year I wasn’t supposed to be there. I am in school and had two final exams scheduled for Friday. One of them was a morning class that had me on campus right when I would have been getting that hug. The upside was that in previous years I was always working the Kingston farmers’ market on Saturday and would miss most of Saturday because of work but I’d get there for the final furious push.

Often best laid plans go awry and this was one of those times. The weather report broadcast on Thursday evening said we’d be waking to high winds and considerable rain on Friday. I decided to set my alarm earlier and to leave the house giving me more than ample time to drive like an old lady from Kingston to the CIA campus in Hyde Park. And while it is always dark and cold at 4am this was darker, colder and wetter than any I have ever experienced.

The rain was steady and from the water building on the sides of the road it had been a steady force for a few hours. I took my usual route and got to 9W in Esopus around 5am. Twice as long as it normally takes me, at that point I was glad to have left so early! Interesting thing I learned about the stretch by the creek. There are no lights. No streetlights to illuminate potentially flooded streets. At the moment my front tires hit the surge of water that would carry my car against it’s will into a side ditch my cell droned out the word “Droid”. My phone ‘says’ that when I have a message or an alert. Ironically, this alert was telling me that the creek over flows at 11.5 ft and it was now at 14ft. Flooding was probable. I got to read the alert as I was sitting there, hands shaking with my car half covered in shrubbery. It took me a few minutes of double checking the rest of ME to make sure I was alive and unharmed before I realized that sitting in my car surrounded by water might not be the smartest thing to do. At this point you might be thinking “wow, she must have been so scared of drowning”. You’d be wrong. I was scared that my chef would fail me for missing the damn final. In almost the same brain wave that gave me that thought I realized that even if he did fail me I’d be alive to bitch about it so I should just be grateful.

Help arrived fairly quickly and I had to decide between going south to take the exam I was now officially late for or to turn around and get that hug from Jack. I have to admit that the idea of a hug was better than anything else at that moment. Hydroplaning in the dark is one scary ride I NEVER want to go on again!

My hands were still shaky when I got to the Verizon parking lot. I’m not sure if that was due to the accident or that I had not heard from my team leader who must surely have been pissed at me for missing class.

If misery loves company then Friday morning was a party. The camper from Boat ‘N RV Warehouse that was to be the WBPM mobile command post for the remote broadcast had no power. Jack and Andre were groping around in the dark as they tried to set up the equipment and the best help I could offer was to aim 1.5 headlights at the entrance of the camper to shed a little light for them. The rain was torrential at this point. It was cold. All of us were wet. I realized that one wiper wasn’t really being effective because it had Esopus leaves stuck in it. And there wasn’t a slice of breakfast pizza in sight.

Interesting thing about annual events. Every year you learn some way to prepare for a catastrophe by going through chaos. Jack and Andre have been through the power issue before and as a precaution had run an extension cord from the Verizon store the night before as a precautionary measure. The cord was ample to power the equipment but no one had ever thought to bring a light source. It wasn’t until daybreak that anyone could see more than a shadowy silhouette in the camper, which was fine because there weren’t any smiles to be seen.

Eventually the sun came up, the camper guy showed to fix the generator, my chef messaged me that we’d work out the final (and he hoped I was safe) and there was breakfast pizza. The rain continued and we listened to the weather advisory and reports of power outages, trees down, roads closed and homes being evacuated and the reassurances that the sun would be out in the afternoon. This was all temporary. Of course it was. Armageddon is temporary, it wreaks havoc and destruction and moves out of the way so the sun can shine on the ruins that are left to be rebuilt. This was a critical fundraiser that needed people to come outside. OUT side. To a tent. To drop off money. As I looked at my dented car and wondered how I’d be fixing that, somewhere just a few miles from us were homeowners that looked down into flooded basements and up at leaky ceilings and here I was hopeful they’d come out to give us money. Fat chance that would be.

Jeanine arrived shortly after I had. She was both surprised and relieved to see me. Jeanine amazes me, I always expect her to be in control, calm and prepared for anything; mostly due to her track record of being in control, calm and prepared for anything. Speaking on a radio show was something she was very nervous about and to add to the nerves was the fact she knew how critical the success of this event was. She’s relatively new to her job as program coordinator and while she has the Queens Galley elevator speech down pat the very idea that the fate of our organization could crumble as the result of something she said on air made her nervous. It made me smile to see she was human and slightly imperfect; somehow it made her more perfect to me.

With Jeanine came more visible sun. The rain tapered but stayed steady. Traffic on rte 9W was slow but at least there were cars so that meant that roads were open, even as schools were closing. I set up the laptop, Jeanine set up everything else on our end as the guys finished setting up the broadcast area. Everyone was busy and even through the comfort mundane processes there was an undercurrent of discord, something just didn’t feel right. It just felt wet.

The switch-over from station to remote location started on time-ish , a delay only by a few minutes, a small miracle when the morning activities are taken into consideration. We go through the check list. Power, check. Transmission, check. Pizza, check. Phone lines. Phone lines. Hello? Phone lines? The phone line wasn’t working. The phone that some donor might be calling wasn’t working. The number that had been advertised and on the web wasn’t working. A quick substitution of another cell was made until we sorted out the donation line.

Next, Felice shows up. Her official title is volunteer coordinator, truth be told she is my executive assistant, right hand and voice of reason. She was a little surprised to see me, I recounted my morning to her and she said it was the smartest move I had made. My being dead on the side of the road just would not have been productive today. She knew I would be worried about my exams but she reiterated that the worst possible scenario would be a class failure but at least I’d be alive to take it again. She had a good point there. If you know Felice you’d know she usually has a good point there. Felice is also keenly aware of her surroundings. She’ll often look at me with a quizzical look and say “didn’t you notice…yada, yada and yada?” Usually I have not or have noticed but overlooked a nuance that stood out to her like the 500lb blue gorilla in the room. Today’s gorilla was a tension with Jack and Andre, a tension not with each other but with something else or more likely someone else. I had chalked it up to the usual rattling between them and management of the station. Some of it I wondered if it was just part of the morning show schtick and how much was based on labor Vs management/ morning show Vs any time slot later. Felice picked up on it immediately, I was still wondering if I could name five fresh and five dried chiles for my Cuisines of the America’s final exam and if this radio-thon would raise enough to get us to Thanksgiving.

Right around 9 am some of the more loyal WBPM morning show listeners start popping in to say hi to Jack and Andre and to drop off donations. It was a parade that would play the same song all day long, a person I had never met would come by and drop some change or a few dollars into the box and say they wish it could be more. Times were tough but they wanted to give something, and oh, yes they thought Jack and Andre were the best. At this point two things happen.

First is Robbie Dupree shows up and the next is Jeanine reminds us that we need to call the camper guys back because the water reserve is empty and that made using the rest room a little fragrant. The guys visit with Robbie, he looks amazing. His Time and Tide cd is doing well and Robbie tells us about his recent experience on Jimmy Fallon’s tv show. Jordan Schor shows up too while Robbie is there, great! We can get Jordan on the air too to talk about Dine one Share one. Things are starting to look up. Except at that very moment when the guys decide to go on air with Robbie I have to use the restroom. I mean HAVE to use it. The stress of the morning has decided to outrageously demand an exit immediately. Remember folks we’re in a camper with doors and walls made of manila folder materials covered in wood grain shelf paper. No problem. I’ll just go in and be quiet and if I have to just stay in there until the five minute break is over.

Five minutes is a really long time. Five minutes in a closet that stinks of…well, it stinks…and I can’t flush because I’m sure the sound of flushing while the mic is hot wouldn’t be a good thing and if you’ve ever listened to the Electric morning show with Jack and Andre you also know that people in bathrooms are fair game for ridicule. I wasn’t calling attention to my predicament until after the break. No matter what. No matter if the smell was turning me green. Just at the apex of my wondering if I could stand another second I look at the sink top. Jeanine had been here. Jeanine the prepared (that’s going to be her new Knight name) had been there. The evidence was an assortment of hand sanitizers, soap and bless this woman, a small atomizer air freshener. Let me just say to those of you who know what’s coming next to please understand that there are those of us who cannot think past the moment. Had I been the type to think past the moment I would have known that the little atomizer lets out a very strong perfume. The kind that is meant for a large room. The kind that leaves a purple cloud in the air and you can see the purple mist physically battle with the green odor demons you’re trying to destroy. Now I really can’t breathe. The bathroom is smaller than that on a jet blue flight to Newark (why bother it’s a short flight just hold it in).

If I turn round it’s the green goblin funk and facing forward is the purple mist jousting squad, I’m caught in the middle trying not to gag. I can’t flush because of the noise and now I refuse to open the door because of the two smells cavorting together are sure to escape and bring ridicule toward me. Why on earth did I eat that second slice of breakfast pizza? In my panic I look up. Aha! There is a small square vent with a crank handle to open the little lever like window. Yep. There it was. On the ceiling. I’m short. Ceilings and I are only on a distant acquaintance level, we’ve never really been properly introduced because the likelihood of us meeting often is slim. Ceiling is up there and I’m down here. I suppose climbing on the toilet could be an option, then from there onto the sink. Yeah. Right. That’s likely to A) not happen or B) bring about what I’m trying to avoid, calling any attention to the fact that I am trapped in the bathroom by the stinkies. How much longer of the five minute break can possibly be left? Robbie’s been talking for awhile, I hear them all laughing loudly, and obviously he’s already gotten to the punch line of the story, really how much longer could I be trapped in this gas chamber of doom? Four minutes. That would be four minutes left to go. I had only been in there for a minute. God help me this was going to be a long day.
After what felt like an eternity the on air chat ended and a few people left the camper so I felt it was safe to exit the bathroom. I waved the door around a little as I left just to give some extra insurance. A mental note was made that if I ever buy a camper to buy one with a window I could reach.

My five minutes in the chamber OF HORRORS will be our little secret ok?

During my absence (that no one seemed to notice) the donation line rang a few times, more friends of the morning show stopped by and we were putting our first tally together. The morning started slowly, and by noon it was clear that the weather had played a significant role in a dampened effort to raise funds. We posted on facebook, sent out updates and checked emails. Jeanine called friends and I texted previous donors and supporters. The guys made better plans. They got the Freedom Fighters bike club together for a helmet drop. This would mean that on Saturday there would be a team of large tattooed guys in leather standing on the yellow line in the middle of the road asking drivers to roll down windows and drop in change. Dave from Angela’s set a goal of $3,000 in the three hours they’d be out there on Saturday. We all told him we thought he’d raise more and I prayed in my heart with fervor that he wouldn’t do less. The Queens Galley is out of money. We had taken a loan from Jay, my husband, for $3,000 to get through the past week. We started the rally 3K in the hole.

Funny thing about holes. When you’re alone down there you feel trapped. Sort of like how I felt in the bathroom. But as soon as you know there is help and you know you’ll be out soon the feeling of liberation is immediate. These guys have always been there for us and it reminded me of a joke about a guy in a hole. While he’s down there he’s passed by a rabbi, priest, cop, fire fighter and there may have even been a duck. Not sure about the duck but the rest of them when asked for help either walked by or said they’d go get some help. Finally a friend walks by. The guy in the hole asks for help and the friend jumps in. The guy is annoyed and says why the hell did you jump in here? Now we’re both stuck! The friend smiles, say’s “nah. I’ve been down here before and I know the way out”. Working with these guys is like that. I know they love the galley and there’s no way they’re getting away this weekend without giving every ounce of effort they have.

By 5pm on Friday we had raised less than $5,000, almost $7,000 less than the same time previous year. But we were all feeling a little better and whatever drama was going to unfold with the guys had obviously been set aside so all energy could go into making Saturday be better than Friday.

At the tail end of Friday we were visited by hope and quite accidentally. And while at the time I was the only one to find humor in the fact that it was a toilet that brought this person into us now that you know what happened during the Robbie interview you can understand why I thought a cell phone falling into a toilet to be funny and fortuitous at the same time. A gentleman stopped in at the camper because his significant other was visiting the Verizon wireless store. They both bought new phones from Jay. Being a good husband he suggested that James go visit us while Lori settled on a phone. We discovered immediately that we liked Jim and that he and I have several friends in common. Making the future seem even brighter was when Lori joined us and within minutes we realized we had just made two new friends.
A rocky start to a tumultuous day and when I fell into bed next to Olivia in the camper I realized that I yet to get my hug from Jack.

To be continued….