Waiting for Thirteen

A little groggy today, because an 80-year-old lady here in town got lost walking to the post office yesterday morning (she was seen around 9 a.m. walking through the woods, as any right-thinking person would do rather than stick to the road). She lives alone, but her daughter got concerned when she couldn't raise her mother during the day. Around 9:30 p.m., in torrents of rain, the forest wardens called out the fire department to help look for her.

They were out all night. Rob came home briefly at midnight to get additional headlamps and again at 4 to get a couple of hours of sleep before heading out again. They found her at 7:30, suffering from hypothermia but otherwise alert and cheerful. Giddy relief, since everyone was assuming at that point that they were looking for a body.

As usual, my contribution to the effort was to sit or lie here fretting all night. Sometimes I'm worried about the person who's in peril, sometimes about the firefighters. Sometimes it's just that it still feels weird not to be rushing out to cover the event for a newspaper. Last night it was all of the above, because the weather was so foul.

It didn't help when, around 3:30, the dispatcher said, "Thirteen, do you need assistance?" (Rob's call number is Thirteen, giving you some idea of the cheery fellow I live with.) A few minutes later: "Thirteen, are you going to report in, please?" And a few minutes after that: "Thirteen, respond, please."

Gulp.

Turned out Rob was driving back to the station and had flung his radio into the back seat. He was not about to stop and look for it, so he just kept driving. Thanks for nothing, Bucko.

Tomorrow, if TS Kyle spares our electricity, I'll talk about my trip to Boston. Hey, it's only a week old. But it includes an afternoon at a Hahvid event during which the future leaders of our country threw water balloons at each other. So it'll keep.