one more rescue story

Twas many months before Christmas, in fact it was May.
Not a dark cloud was blowing for most of the day.
The Schwisters were nestled at home safe and sound
with hopes that the storm would not land in their town.

When out of the sky there arose such a wail.
Tornados were sighted. There was rain, there was hail!
Away to the basement Norm flew nice and quick,
with the radio tuned and the candles all wicked.

When what to Norm's wondering ears should he hear,
but a call from his daughter, which filled him with fear.
A tornado in Shoreview had smashed up her van.
Norm knew in a moment he must have a plan.

He sprang into action, up the stairs Norman raced.
He must stage a rescue there was no time to waste.
The power was out; it was as dark as night.
Norm needed a candle or two for some light.

He searched and he rummaged in all of the drawers
in his haste Norman dropped something glass on the floor.
Norm stepped on a glass shard and to his chagrin
he cut his bare foot, it was really stuck in.

Norm did not stop to fix his bad sore.
He raced to the garage but could not open the door.
He heaved and hoed; he pushed and he groaned.
He finally managed to lift that big load.

To keep it from falling back down on his head,
he set the stepladder beneath it instead.
When out in the garage there arose such a clatter
Mary ran out the door to see what was the matter.

Norm had forgotten the height of the thing.
Smacked his head on the door- Oh my, what a ding!
With his foot dripping blood and his head with a lump,
he didn't delay, in the car he did jump.

His head- how it pounded! His foot, how it ached!
He barely could handle the wheel and the brake.
He sped down the road with his wife by his side.
Mary said, 'Honey, do you think I should drive?"

He spoke not a word, but gripped the wheel tight.
His daughter was in peril, he must make it right.
Ahead in the road there appeared a great tree
blocking his path. Oh, how could this be?

Old Mother Nature had played her last card.
Norm had to return to his own house and yard.
Norm did exclaim as he drove through the night,
"I hope that her husband can set the thing right."

count the ways

Mark wrote earlier about Dad's considerable qualifications as Rescuer-General, bailer-out and puller-up extraordinaire. In his story, Dad was working his particular magic in what we'll call a vertical context. I've been on the receiving end---rescuee to his rescuer---many times, too, although usually no broken bones or were involved. Typically, this involved a late night phone call from me and Dad unhesitatingly driving to pick me up from wherever I was stranded. This scenario played out more times than I care to admit. Let's list just a few:

• Summer 1987: Going to Glacier! Wait. . . NOT going to Glacier! Dad, can you pick me up from the Amtrak station?
• Summer 1988: Epic improvised hitchhiking trip across Canada goes swimmingly until Watson Lake, where all hope is lost in a sinkhole of despair. Greyhound gets me to Winnipeg. Just for the fun of it, Dad and Kathy drive eight hours north to pick me up from the bus station.
• Fall 1998 - Spring 1991 (various occasions): More hitchhiking, this time weekends from the University of Minnesota in Morris to Not Quite Home But Close Enough. Dad, I'm in Maple Grove/Brooklyn Center/somewhere on 694. Can you come pick me up?
• March 1993: First leg of trip to New Mexico goes horribly wrong when subzero temperatures and a slowly-dying alternator intervene. Cleverly, I drive all the way to Kansas City before deciding that this is serious. Even more cleverly, instead of finding a local mechanic, I decide to turn around and go home so I can replace the alternator myself in the frigid comfort of Dad's garage. Each time it fails, the alternator can be temporarily stunned back to life by stopping the car, opening the hood, and delivering strategically-placed blows to its casing with a metal pipe. On the return trip, the alternator fails approximately once each mile. Hundreds of miles and thousands of blows later, the alternator is in shreds and finally gives up the ghost as I coast into a gas station in Farmington. Almost made it, but not quite. Dad, can you pick me up?
  
• Etc.
  

How do I love thee? Let me count the (high)ways. . .