A Fargo-ish Avalanche of Scenarios

Do you remember making a snowman or snow woman? We’d take a ball of snow and roll it on the ground until it got bigger, and that became the base. Then we’d make a smaller ball for the middle and a still smaller ball for the head.

Each supported the other. Can’t have a bodiless snow head, right? In life, too, one situation can support what happens next, yet if circumstances contradict instead?

Sometimes the result is a floating snow head with a life of its own.

I keep thinking about the movie Fargo and liken it to a runaway snowball that keeps rolling and getting bigger as it builds speed.

Released in early 1996, it was re-released in March 1997 after actress Frances McDormand won the Academy Award for Best Actress, and the Coen brothers won in the Best Original Screenplay category. The movie builds on how small, bad decisions rapidly compound into an unmanageable, chaotic avalanche of complications.

Our story begins.

Because I’m preparing my medical records for an appointment with a new provider, I went into my chart to make PDFs of two recent procedures.

That’s when I noticed severe errors, including inaccurate information. I sent a form to medical records and received confirmation that it was received — and was surprised two days later to see my chart being altered in real time while there was an open ticket. The changes, however, retained some of the errors.

I sent a second form to medical records and did not hear back.

This is when the avalanche began.

The characters were trying to cover up the mistakes. Someone looked for excuses to justify what happened. There are none. A phone call asking to speak with me. Then another, similar call from a private cell phone with the company’s call-back number.

Then an email the following week.

Like my documentation of the floating concrete batch plant accident in December 2014 during construction of the now-Gov. Mario M. Cuomo Bridge — I surmised the two floating concrete batch plants were built similarly — I figured there was scrambling behind the scenes here, too.

My hunch that the bridge builder (consortium) knew there was a chance the second batch plant might collapse, too, and shut it down was eventually proven to be correct. I asked if it would have been a matter of time before an identical malfunction occurred in that second batch plant although both were prepped, inspected and tested identically.

A project source told me: yes, the second plant would have malfunctioned.

The current sequence of events is similar.

A high-level administrative request is met with frantic organizational panic and a sudden avalanche of excuses. It’s a classic corporate defensive loop that has a fatal flaw: paper shields cannot erase digital realities.

I’d like to know what you think.

Copyright © Janie Rosman and Kaleidoscope Eyes 2026

A Limbo Maneuver, Steel-Toe Boots and More

Your intrepid reporter in a spontaneous moment/Photo credit: Phil Little

The day finally arrived: we were in Piermont to meet the super crane — it was HUGE — that had traveled from California to work on the bridge project (now the Cuomo Bridge connecting Westchester and Rockland counties).

It had left Oakland days before Christmas 2013 — escorted by tugboats Lauren Foss and Iver Foss — and had arrived about six weeks later at a private facility in Jersey City before making its debut at the project site (Tappan Zee Bridge) in early October 2014.

After doing a cool limbo maneuver under that bridge — aided by low tide that added an extra foot or two of clearance — two days later, the mammoth crane with super strength and no navigational power of its own got busy from its perch on a 384-foot barge.

Every time media got onto a tugboat to see the project site we had to wear hardhats and painfully-uncomfortable steel-toe boots. I bought a pair as they weren’t part of my usual fashion wardrobe.

And threw them out the minute the tugboat trips ended.

So much for industrial safety. They were supposed to protect our feet yet when the river got choppy one day, and the boat pitched, my leg slammed into a piece of metal that left a bruise on my shin.

We had been vetted and were on a chartered boat with the governor, community leaders and project officials in Piermont. Lots of excitement as we’d been hearing about this crane for a long time.

Months earlier in May I was in the same airspace as President Obama when he came to Tarrytown to stress the importance of infrastructure, specifically this project.

Back then I was standing in a row after the Secret Service and service dogs had cleared me. I stepped out to get something from my bag and was told to get back in line.

I digress.

I’d wanted to meet the governor — in addition to local and regional officials, I met President Clinton when he spoke at the centennial celebration of my alma mater (Pace University) in 2006 — and saw a chance.

The friend I was with noticed him talking with people one-on-one. I did, too. You know how, when you think of meeting someone important in business or government, or the arts or science, you figure it’d be at a meeting or presentation?

This was very low-key. No one with an ear wire or ID badge waved me away. I’d been approved at the checkpoints and was standing on a boat in the wind after the I Lift NY super crane arrived.

I introduced myself. Maybe he wondered what I was going to say. We talked for a minute or two. It was an honor. He was easy to speak with, and after telling him my news outlets, I thanked him for the opportunity to cover the event.

Actually, he should have thanked me for covering it.

Andrew Cuomo resigned from the highest office in New York State August 24, 2021. Prosecutors dropped the lone charge against him because they didn’t have the evidence to secure a conviction at trial, despite finding the accuser credible. Back in October 2014, however, he was a sitting governor and a little surprised, maybe amused, at this feisty, intrepid reporter.

I’d like to know what you think.

Copyright © Janie Rosman and Kaleidoscope Eyes 2026

Bittersweet Memories in a Surprise Cupcake

This time each year always brings reflection.

It was my birthday, and the pandemic had been gripping us for more than 18 months. I parked the car and was walking to my building after visiting mom at the hospital. Because of the strict COVID protocols, visiting hours were brutally restricted from 12 noon to 2 p.m. and from 4 p.m. to 6 p.m.

Two hours were not enough for a visit though it was my second one of the afternoon. I carried the heavy, silent pain that I might not see her the next day. She didn’t know I was there holding her hand, crying and praying with every ounce of energy that she wouldn’t slip away.

As I neared the outer back door I heard laughter and looked up. Kids were in the playground next door wearing party hats, and a “Happy Birthday” banner was affixed to the fence. The table was laden with desserts; they were having fun. I felt like I was behind a glass wall.

I waved to one of the moms and said, “Happy Birthday,” and that it was my birthday, too. I needed to tell someone.

She smiled and offered me a cupcake — chocolate piled with pale yellow, green and purple frosting and topped with a little plastic jack-o’-lantern. I thanked her and brought it carefully home, then snapped this picture and ate it the next day.

While her kind, unexpected gesture didn’t change the harsh reality of how I felt inside, it made me feel less alone. She had no idea how much it meant at that moment.

I don’t remember what happened the next day except I nervously called to check mom’s room. She was there. My birthday prayers had been answered!

Two days later she was transferred to another facility, whose staff brought her back from that dark place and gave our family precious additional months. Seeing mom laugh and smile again was a grace I never expected and a miracle for which I’m deeply grateful.

The spooky cupcake smiles at me when I open the pictures on my laptop. I think of that day, and later, someone’s mom handing me the treat across the fence. Here’s to another trip around the huge plasma ball on this third rock from the sun.

Copyright © Janie Rosman and Kaleidoscope Eyes 2026