"What I really need," I told Susan as I buttoned myself into my uniform, "is a stunning pre-hospital save." Lately I've been in a bit of a funk because my time commitments to the rescue squad and fire class leave me with only enough spare time for, well, nothing. I thought it would be nice to get a call in which I could clearly make a difference in someone's life, just as a convenient little reminder why I tolerate this whole emergency-care obsession.

What I got, of course, was a terrible call, nothing like my polite request to the universe for a friendly wave of encouragement. Suffice it to say that it just fucking sucked a lot. I'm in that phase afterward when I think it about over and over, obsessing on the bitter details far more than I can ever acknowledge to those around me. I've been here before and I know it will pass, mostly.

We blew town for the country, my ancestral Appalachian homelands, for most of Thanksgiving week. My mom, Susan's mom, and Susan's mom's boyfriend joined us for a time. We were strolling down the single commercial street of a small town when we passed by Presidential debate facilitator and softball pitcher Jim Lehrer. Susan and I, being dutiful Washingtonians, immediately recognized him, even without the pancake tan and sparky suit. Then it seemed like everywhere we went, Jim Lehrer would show up. In the street again, in the small corner bakery, the antique store -- there he was, in dockers and a sort of late 80's style jacket with red piping. He seemed to be accumulating a formidable armload of packages. Every time I passed by him and met his eyes I felt confident that he knew I knew who he was. It occurred to me that I had my digital camera, and that this might be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for a keepsake photo with the man in the middle of the dubious 2000 elections. But I kept silent and didn't approach him. If Jim Lehrer has to go all the way out to the boonies to do a little Christmas shopping, then he deserves a little room.