They KNEW, Dammit They Knew.

Finally The Weather Channel rebroadcast the episode of It Could Happen Tomorrow, The Lost Episode.

The first episode was completed in April 2005.  It was scheduled to air later that fall.  Out of respect they did not air the episode until just a year or so ago, and in memory of the disaster that happened five years ago, they re-aired it again yesterday.  I missed the first airing, but DVR'd the late night episode.

Watching it again infuriates me. 

When it was apparent that Katrina was massive and heading for New Orleans, Mayor Nagin issued a "voluntary" evacuation.  The people in New Orleans had been warned so many times before, most ignored the voluntary evacuation.  The day before Katrina hit, the mayor finally issued a mandatory evacuation.  While there were still alot of people ignoring the warnings, those that did were now found themselves gridlocked on the highways exiting the city.

Idris Lewis lived in the ninth ward.  He waited for his son, who was to help him evacuate.  By then the authorities were not allowing anyone to enter the area.  Idris waited alone, recalling that waking the next morning, he found his bed floating in water.  Eventually he made his way to the rooftop where eventually a boat happened by that rescued him from being another statistic.Every aspect of the New Orleans' administration knew that Hurricane Katrina was inevitable.

The evacuation plan never seemed to consider the poor that lived in the ninth ward that could not possibly evacuate in such short notice. 


Fran Campbell, Executive Director of the East Jefferson Parish was one administration official that took pre-emptive action. She, along with all the others knew that the levees could not hold during a major hurricane. The difference was that she refused to gamble with her 250,000 people's lives.

"Due to lack of funding we were forced to come up with our own solutions to some of our problems. We had been asking for years for funding from the federal government."

In March 2005, Louis Armstrong Airport runway was being replaced. Ms. Campbell begged for the old runway and her staff worked overtime transporting the broken runway to the East Jefferson levee. "Her" levee held, while so many others did not. I've heard that the Army Corp of Engineers studied and copied some her ideas to re-enginneer the levees.

Watching the episode again, I am again struck by how many experts knew that it was only a matter of time.  They accurately predicted the "bowl" that New Orleans had become would eventually end up being a death sentence for those that could not escape. 

To blame one person, one mayor, one governor, one agency or one President is outrageous.  It was no one's fault and it was no one's failure.  It was everyone's fault and everyone's failure.  I am  reminded of the 15 year old that "stole" a school bus sitting among dozens of unused buses and collected a bus full of people and saved them from becoming another statistic. 

Hurricane Katrina was first a natural disaster that could never be stopped by any human and secondly a failure of humanity to stop gambling with human lives.  

But sadly, as we hear Hurricane Earl heading for the East Coast, I believe that New Orleans is no more prepared today than it was in 2005.  I wish that were not true, but I believe it is true.

God Bless New Orleans and it's people.  In this horrible anniversary, America still mourns for your unimaginable loss.

Beauty and Tragedy

I had been making a "play" for the trip for nearly a year.
The company I worked for held an annual meeting for the sales associates and certain staff members at the JW Marriott in Cancun.  The hotel was absolutely the most gorgeous place I have ever stayed, and we've stayed at some nice places.

Since I was "staff", I knew it unlikely I would get chosen to attend the meeting.  It was three days, including spouses with several meetings interrupting what would have been the perfect vacation.  Every time I handed in a project to one of the executives that held that purse string I jokingly told them to remember that when the annual conference was coming around. 

But then the economy started going south, especially for a mortgage company. 

My boss told me she had bad news and good news.

The bad news was that the conference was cancelled due to the financial condition of the company.

The good news was that they were still giving the qualifying sales associates three days at the hotel, $750 toward airfare at a time of their chosing.  And I was one of the staff that was allowed to go.  Three days with NO meetings and that was BAD NEWS?

I was one of the lucky ones that planned our trip around a time when I could actually find airfare for two for $752.  Oh and I forgot, they gave us $300 spending money on top of the hotel and grossed up the cost so that we were actually paid enough to compensate for the tax that we would have to pay for trip, since it was considered income.

Five years ago today we were packing for our trip.  We were to leave on Wednesday, August 31st.  We planned for 6 nights of which only three were on our dime.

Since we had seen the damage that Hurricane Charlie dealt to Fort Myers and Sanibel, we were worried as the reports of Katrina first came in.  Everyone was predicted disaster of Biblical proportions to the city of New Orleans and the media reports as the hurricane passed over initially sounded like NOLA had dodged a bullet. 

We left on Wednesday morning and arrived to a different, much improved Cancun than we have visited several years previously.

The Marriott lobby was gorgeous.  We asked to be upgraded to a premium room and the overly gracious hostess assured us we did not want to change from the 4th floor room we were already assigned.  She was absolutely right.

This was taken by my cell phone from our room.  What you can't see is to the left we also had full view of the bay.

We spent 6 glorious nights, if I had known how wonderful it was, I would have booked closer to 10.

We stayed right here the majority of the time.

It was the only time I can remember that Bob wanted to do absolutely nothing but relax in these chairs all day long.

The room was so beautiful and was equipped with all the latest amenities of that time, including satellite TV.

We unpacked, took a cab to a Walmart to get some drinks and snacks, which was interesting to say the least and had a quick bite at the McDonalds located inside Wally World.

Back to the hotel and out we went to enjoy the sun, sea and infinity pool.  When we arrived back at our room, a note was slipped under the door.  A $100 gift certificate from my boss  for the upscale and expensive Italian restaurant inside the hotel.  Life doesn't get any better than that.

I turned on the TV and found the first English speaking news station.  And the reports started coming in.

New Orleans may have dodged a hurricane bullet only to have a nuclear blast come through with the breaking of the levees.  I would sit on the end of the luxurous bedding with my hand covering my mouth for hours at a time as I watched the horror grow with each passing day.

Coming in from the infinity pool each day, I could barely turn away from the news reports and remember thinking, how in the name of God does this happen in America.  I felt guilt over sitting out on the balcony looking over the sea and knowing there were people drowning in New Orleans. 

Shepard Smith was on site and his frustration and anger grew with each passing hour.  He reported the bodies floating by the bridge overpasses.

Each time we came back to the room, I would find that I could not leave the TV for hours, shaking my head knowing that New Orleans would never be the same.

We had been there several times and loved the city, the music, the food, the atmosphere.  We rang in the new millenium right on Bourbon Street staying at the beautiful Royal Sonesta. 

Then the blame game started.  It was FEMA's failure, it was Ray Nagin's failure, it was Governor Blanco's failure, it was the Army Corps of Engineer's failure, it was George Bush's failure. 

There was enough failure to go around.  In disasters of epic proportions, the real truth is that we are no match against the sheer power of nature.  We would all like to believe that we have to power to protect everyone, even the poorest of our communities.  We would feel safer to believe that we can control what nature delivers and it is someone's fault if tragedy overwhelms.  Hurricanes, earthquakes, tsunamis, tornadoes, floods. 

People drowning in the ninth ward was not because some administration was racist or didn't care about the poor.  They drowned because we cannot control nature.  Maybe....Maybe....if the funds to strengthen the levees had not been redirected for years there would have been less death and destruction.  The funds were gambled in the most reckless way possible, they bet human lives and the loss was worse than anything imaginable.

The resulting looting and crime should have not been a surprise to anyone who had ever spent more than 5 minutes in the city.  Long before Katrina, it was well known you did not walk north of Bourbon Street at night and you did not go to Louis Armstrong's park at any time, day or night.

My niece had visited NOLA just a couple weeks before Katrina hit.  I talked to her right before she went out to Bourbon Street.  I told her to have fun, but to not carry a purse and not put anything in her back pocket.  Luckily she heeded my warniing, putting her ID and money in her front pocket.  When she went back to her hotel that evening, her hotel key card, buttoned in her back pocket was gone.  She never felt the pickpocket.  

Selfishly I was relieved to hear that Bourbon Street did not bear the brunt of the flooding.  But I wonder what became of the street musicians that made New Orleans what it was.  I wonder if it's returned to any of it's former atmosphere.

One of my best friend's father is a huge jazz fan, Pete Fountain being his favorite.  He had collected massive amounts of jazz records and jazz fans from around the county will sometimes come and visit him to see his collections.  Over the years he had become friends with Pete.

Sadly the great jazzist lost everything in the flood.  My friend's father finally located Pete and packed up his entire Pete Fountain recordings and shipped them to him.  After all, he said, the recordings should belong to Pete.  The collection had to have been priceless.

One day we will go back and stay on Bourbon Street again.  I hope against hope it has the same feel as it did before Katrina's unwelcome arrival.

And just a few weeks later, Hurricane Wilma hit Cancun with a devasting force, leaving the Marriott closed for over a year.  

Money does not protect anyone or anything from nature's wrath.

A "couple" thousand voices

Quiet, reserved, reverent.  America needs to step back and become a God fearing nation. 

I believe we will.

And the winner is........

You men should already know who wins this one.

Help for Vets

Thanks Vets.

Face Lift

Maybe some people feel like it's no different than redecorating their great room, but it drives me crazy.

Unless things get hectic, I read several different blogs during the week.  I don't know, maybe I have a boring life so I have to hijack into other people's lives.

I have only met one other "blogger" (actually I hate that word) and that was because of a shared childhood hometown.

I recognize the blogs, normally not necessarily by name, but by their layout. 

But suddenly, it all changes.  They do a facelift.  I know they just wanted to redecorate, but since their blog layout is how I recognize them, I get really confused.  I click on one of the blogs I read regularly and their online persona has been significantly altered and suddenly Kenny Roger's loses all of his adorable wrinkles and he just looks stretched out and weird.

I have to go back and figure out which person is which, because I have no basis of reference when they get a nose job. 

And then there are those few that just go "poof" in the night.  You click on your link to them and they have disappeared into thin air and it leaves you wondering what actually happened.

Several months ago, I regularly read a blog of an elementary school principal.  She was funny and interesting, but I worried about all she revealed on her posts.  Talking about incidents with parents, giving them funny names and I just wondered. 

Honestly, how long can you remain anonymous when you give alot of specifics what you do for a living, especially when you regularly post about it including funny incidents that happen on certain days? 

I could find alot of material for posts in my current job.   It's like The Office on steroids.  I know most people wouldn't believe some of the crazy, funny things that go on, but if somehow someone I work with stumbled upon that particular post, suddenly I would be "outed".

So I worry that my little, funny blog friend who was a principal was identified.   Did someone find out about her blog?  Did she lose her job?  I hope not, but then again I wondered about her judgement that she didn't realize no matter how funny her posts were, she was referring to real people that could happen upon her post and then she goes, "poof".   Gone.

I'll keep my wrinkledy- black layout for awhile longer, no plans on a face lift either literally or virtually.  But the black show less wrinkles than my face does now.

Perverting his message

July 24, 2010: Indianapolis, City Municipal Gardens hosting a Youth Outreach program:

IMPD Sgt Matthew Grimes was asked to speak to the youth of a primarily black church, Mount Vernon Missionary Baptist Church. He was invited by Pastor James Harrington to spread goodwill among the black youth and the police department.

During his speech, there was an "apparent" argument in the back of the room between two adults that became so confrontational, the office hurried to the back of the room to diffuse the situation. The "argument" quickly got out of hand and then became physical. In trying to break up the disagreement, the participants threw the officer to the ground, injuring his back.

While on the floor, the officer began to reach for his tazer.

It was only then that Pastor Harrington started yelling, "'Don't shoot! This is staged. This has been staged'."

This church Pastor premediated a set-up hoping to entrap a white IMPD officer by staging a fight in front of some troubled black youths. It has now been reported by the local news stations the Chief of Police is calling for charges in this incident

Sgt. Grimes back may be permanently injured according to the doctors and is currently having to be relegated to desk duty due to the injury.

As if that isn't bad enough, the church finally issued an official statement about the incident yesterday, eight days after the incident.

"We first deny any criminal activities as it relates to the actions of Friday evening at the Municipal Gardens. Mt. Vernon did not organize nor participate in this event," said Vernita Moore, Mt. Vernon trustee. "Rev. Jimmy Harrington acted in his own individual capacity as a member of the community."

Instead of the "We first deny any criminal activity..." they should have FIRST apologized for the actions of their "pastor". Sadly, the late Mozel Sander's former church has now shamed his name. And perverted Dr. King's message. Both of these fine men would be turning over in their graves.

Racism is racism, no matter the color. And, as a warning, all racists comments of either kind will be deleted.

I only wish Sgt. Grimes hadn't waited so long to pull the tazer. If the participants and the idiotic, racist Harrington had a few volts of a tazer jumping through their bodies, the shock might have, just might have zapped Dr. King's message into their brains. But I doubt it.

With our black youth being "led" by the likes of Harrington, is there any wonder why there were TEN kids shot during Black Expo this year?

This has now made national news, if the Pastor thought this was going to go away easily, he is sadly mistaken.


August 28, 1963, Lincoln Memorial, Washington DC

He said: (emphasis added)

"But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.


We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force. The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny and their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone.

...
I say to you today, my friends, that in spite of the difficulties and frustrations of the moment, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal." ...

I have a dream that my four children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. ...."

So many people seem to have forgotten Dr. King's last seven words.

Sorry, I've been a little busy.

Heard there's a new position open and I've decided it would be a better career choice.

I figure I can probably get elected to be Mayor of Bell, California and even if I resign after a week, I'll be able to retire with a livable pension.

If I can't get elected mayor, I'd settle for a city council seat.  Not a bad side income for a part-time position.  I would fly to CA once a month or so to attend the meetings, after all, that flight would be tax-deductable too.  Maybe even combine the trips with some business related side trips to San Fran or San Diego or Malibu.

Send me your address and I'll forward you an absentee ballot, just be sure to find a valid Bell address.

Thanks so much for your support.   I'll also accept some healthy financial donations for my campaign if you don't mind.

Maybe I should sue for a couple million

Caution:

One of these


Is not supposed to be poked in one of these.

And I'm pretty sure there was no warning label covering that little mishap.

Know any good ambulance-chasing attorneys?

Where are you Nora Ephron?

I'm ready for a feel good movie starring

and

And I'll even settle for their slightly older than middle aged looks. 

It's been too many years now.





Yeah, I want a feel good movie about two people and a happily ever after.  A movie that I don't have to think about.....anything.

Where are you Nora?

Ever hear the one about an Indian and a Mexican opening an Italian Restaurant with a Mob Name?

Neither have I.

All I can tell you is the food at Goodfella's is out of this world!

The Basa is wonderful but the risotto will send you through the roof.

I'm Preparing for Another Boo Hoo Night

We've been fans of Deadliest Catch before their budget could afford the fancy camera work. I can't remember if the first episodes had Mike Rowe's now infamous voice, but I'm certain the show has made him even more famous.

The only thing better than looking at Mike Rowe is hearing his voice.

Captain Phil has always been a favorite. We've always called Captain Jonathan, Russell as he looks like our grandson's other grandfather.

His brother Andy has a large horse farm in Indiana.  Edgar Hansen from the Northwester is beginning to sound like he is ready to give up fishing because it is costing too much time away from his family.

And this guy is just one big jerk.

Although I haven't verified it, I'm fairly certain the idea for the show came from another Discovery Channel's show which was called Ten Deadliest Jobs. I still remember the #1 Deadliest Job was the Alaskan Crab Fishermen.

So, if you are a fan of the show at all, by now you've heard that everyone's beloved Captain Phil passed away from a massive stroke.

So, while this show was supposed to be a manly show, it has turned into the ultimate chick flick that makes even the big guys cry.

Farewell Capt Phil. We'll "sea" you on the other side.

Just finished watching the two hour episode.  Now THAT's the way to celebrate someone's life.  Not with tears, but with laughter.

Too Good Not to Share

H/T Hotair

Purely for the quick entertainment factor.

The genius comment is at 1:20. I love watching the expression on the General.

Updated: Don't Expect Too Much

I'm too busy being in awe of the amazing ocean since I'm watching it through the eyes of my two new nieces who are both seeing it for the first time.

But here a couple of quick funny memories:

Right before take off in the airplane:  "Mommy, are they gonna say, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, BLAST OFF?"

Upon boarding the plane: "Aunt Rita?  I thought you said our seats were out on the wing."  (YEAH, I did.  I thought she knew I was joking.)

During the flight:  "Grandma, would you go sit where Uncle Bobby is so he can sit next to me?"  Sorry Cissy. :(   Uncle Bobby's reaction?  :D

Overheard from a little boy seated behind us that was about two or three and obviously on his first flight also: "Don't laugh at me Graaaandmaaaaw."  At which point about 15 people laughed. 

Today on the beach, the youngest was crunching some baby carrots from my cooler.  She was so busy showing me this tiny "she shell" and telling me all about it that several chunks of "minced" carrots fell out of her tiny chomping mouth onto our beach mat.

I told her, "K, why don't you stop talking long enough to quit spitting up carrots onto the mat?" 

Beach, Ocean, Sea, Sand, Shells and Carrots are just too distracting apparently because.......

As soon as she heard me she forgot that she had a shell in her hand and absently thinking she had a carrot, she popped the tiny "she shell" right into her MOUTH!!!!

I will go to my grave still laughing about that one.

Update:  Last night the two girls stayed with us.  Grandpa was reading the youngest one's travel journal.  It had been dictated to her mother and even so, some of the words were hard to read.  After a couple sentences where Grandpa was stumbling over a few words, K said, "That's okay Grandpa, you don't have to read the whole thing because you are old and can barely read." 

And today Grandma laid down the law.  After a couple hours in the swimming pool, K who's 5 kept pestering Grandma to let her jump off the side, when Grandma kept saying no, K said, "the magic word" as my sister put it. 

She dared to utter....

"I'm bored." 

Oooooops, Wrong thing to say.

Grandma promptly took her hand and said, "OK, that's the magic word.  Out of the pool." 

Instant and loud boo hoo'ing, but Grandma was not to be deterred.

K bawled all the way to the chaise lounge next to me, threw herself down and took her fists and pound, pound on the fabric.

At which point Aunt Rita said, in a voice also not to be argued with, "K, THAT IS ENOUGH."  Of course I had to turn my head immediately so she couldn't see me laughing.

A few more overly audible boo hoos and a couple more "enoughs" and all was quiet.  Of course she was still very unhappy.  She had to sit or lay on the chaise lounge until Grandma stopped seeing glares piercing in her direction. 

Ten minutes later, Grandma takes her hand and they were back in the pool again without any further tantrums.  My sister and I are still laughing about her instant boo hoos and the pounding of the chaise lounge.

I WIN

By an overwhelming majority, 100% of my vast male readers agree with me.

I work with alot of guys and a few select females that are more like me, not really all that girly.

That means the reason I love my job is because you don't have to spend your day worrying about some stupid little remark offending anyone.  That also means that you have to "thick skin" and a very crazy sense of humor.

Over the last three years, everyone in the office mostly enjoy their day because they spend it insulting me in every "fashion" possible and they know I will not take offense and I can give as good as I get.

So on Friday, I wore a top similar to the one pictured below:

I never want to have to go back to the days when I had to dress in a business suit, heels and pantyhose.  I wear jeans every day and Fridays are even more considered "casual days".  Maybe it was the clothes, but I used to spend most of my time watching my back because the men and women I worked with would stab you in the back in a heartbeat.

After lunch, it started.  One of the guys looked at my lime green top and said, "My parents had a car about that color." 

I said, "It was a Dodge."  He didn't know.  He's barely 40, but I remember the lime green Dodge that sported the same color I wore.

A few minutes later I was in another guy's office and he also makes a comment about the color of my top.

I have no idea why they attack me in this manner.  I think it might have started with the fact that when any of the guys walk past me wearing a "girly" color I say, "HEY.  Cute TOP." 

You wanna see a guy's spin around like they are Regan from The Exorcist, say that to them when they are wearing Lilac or Coral or Periwinkle.  I would like to take credit for that line, but I actually stole it from a guy I worked with several years ago when we were commenting on another guy's pastel shirt.  It was such a great straight line, I use it whenever I can.

So when the second guy makes a comment about the color of my top, I repeated the first comment.  Told him it was the color of a cool Dodge, back in the '60's.  He disagreed.  Said, "MAYBE, but it would have been a Dodge Dart."  All hell broke loose at that time.  If I had any ounce of "offendability" in my little finger, that comment would have lit it.  A great argument ensued and I was about to google my winning argument.

The second guy then walks into the "big guy's" office.  NO, not THAT Big Guy, the next-door-office-executive who is ALL about cars.  Second Guy says, "Rita, come in here."  Second guy tells Big Guy, "look at her." 

If you think I was in the least bit intimidated at this time, you do not know me. 

I stand there with my hands on my hip and Big Guy hired because he knew no one intimidates me.  Since then he and everyone else have found out no one can offend me either.

Second Guy said, "Was there ever a cool car that color?"  Big Guy would absolutely know the answer to this, but it was a "great guy conspiracy".  Big Guy, said, "NO, never that color." 

Second Guy and Big Guy are a few years older than me and I KNOW they remember the cool Dodge's "back in the day".  I insisted, "Oh yes there was, it was a Dodge."  Big Guy said, "Maybe a Duster."

Are you seriously kidding me?  First accused of being a Dodge Dart and then a Duster?  Oh, it is all out war now. 

I pulled up both the Dodge Challenger and the Charger on google, printed them out on the color printer and posted them outside my cube which both Guys have to walk past on their way to the "manly" restrooms.

I spent nearly all day yesterday on a conference call with these "boys".  In the waning times the lime green top argument was brought back up.  I told them that from now on I was wearing that color every single day.  Political correctness does not exist where I work (for which I am eternally grateful) and one of them says, "or come topless."

I said, "I would, but the funny thing is I am the exact same color underneath."

After the laughter died down, the Big Guy said, "Well, that doesn't surprise me, you ARE alot like the Grinch."

So thx guys.  You have proven that I win the argument.  Lime Green Dodges in the '60's WERE cool cars.

Help Me Settle An Argument

All votes will be tabulated according to my own standards.

Was this considered a cool car or not?

Placing Blame

I think we're all inclined to do it.  When we're hurting, we don't want to accept it's just a natural part of life or we direct our hurt to anger and that anger has to go somewhere so we want to blame someone because then at least we have an outlet.

One evening, around Thanksgiving in 1995, Bob talked with his dad.   Their discussion mainly concerned that the doctor had told him he could start driving again after a few months break due to his health.  He had lived a hard live and by the age of 71, he was not in the best of health.  Bob argued just a bit with him, concerned that he really wasn't quite up to par to be driving again.

The very next afternoon we got the call.  His father was being transported to a first rate trauma hospital downtown.  He had been in a traffic accident.  He was awake, alert and talking at the scene.

This was before the days of "everyone has a cell phone", so because I was on the way home, I didn't know until I got home around 6 or so and Bob had left a handwritten message on the counter.  I think I actually still have the piece of paper somewhere.

It read:  "Dad's been in an accident, I'm going to Wishard (hospital)."   I saw the note and was reading it when Bob's teenage daughter walked in, excited about her new job, which would help her with her college major.  I listened to her while trying not to be appear concerned.  When she was done, I called Bob on his new cell phone.

When Bob answered I was standing right in front of two teenage girls.  I heard Bob say, "he's not going to make it."  The combination of my ears not wanting to hear that and not wanting to repeat what he said in front of the girls left me speechless.  My non-response left Bob a little more than irritated.

He said, "Did you HEAR what I said?"  I said, "Well I think I did, but repeat it."

He did.  The words didn't change.

I told him I was on the way.  He told me I wouldn't make it in time.   I didn't care.  I had lost my own father just a few short years before that and I was not going to not be there.

Twenty-five minutes later I was running into Wishard's emergency room.  Wishard is known for first rate trauma care but mainly for providing care for the poor and uninsured.

I found Bob in a hallway, just a couple minutes after the family had been told he had passed away.

It took days before we could find anyone who knew the details of the accident and actually got a copy of the police report which we were certain would tell us how his dad caused the accident.

We were a little more than shocked to find out that his father had been travelling through a green light downtown when a woman ran a red light and t-boned him.  While he was alert at the scene, the accident ruptured his spleen and, although only 5 minutes away from the hospital, the docs were not able to save him.

The police report made it all very clear.  The lady lived in Ohio and had been at IU Med Center downtown, another excellent hospital, right off the interstate near Wishard.   She had missed the red light that was placed immediately before the ramps.

Driving the route she would have been travelling you can see that unless you are very familiar with the area, you would be concentrating on the interstate entrance signs and immediately before the signs is a traffic signal.  The placement of the two together is an accident waiting to happen.  I'm sure this wasn't the first deadly accident at that intersection and certainly not the last.

Undoubtedly, she was not only unfamiliar with the area, but trying to make sure she got on the correct ramp and completely missed the red light that resulted in my father-in-law's death.  She wasn't driving recklessly, she wasn't under the influence, she simply made a mistake that I'm sure haunts her today.

At the funeral home, we were surprised that we found an arrangement with her name on it.

Writing the "Thank You" notes afterward was split up among the "kids".  Since we had the police report, we also had her address.

Bob and I had a long discussion talking about the accident and what that woman must have been feeling.   She didn't go out that morning and decide she wanted to kill anyone.  She didn't go out that morning and drink all day and get behind a wheel and tempt fate.  She went to visit someone in a hospital and upon leaving made a horrible mistake that killed my father-in-law.

Fortunately, no one in the family wanted to play the Blame Game.  It was a mistake.  Nothing more, nothing less.  It was an accident, it wasn't an "on purpose".

I wrote the note to her as Bob and I talked.  Although I don't recall the exact wording it went something like this:

Dear ......

Thank you for the lovely arrangement.

Sometimes in life there are tragic events and we want you to know that we believe this is one of those times for our family and yours.

More than anything we wish you peace for this Christmas.

The son and daughters of.....

It would have been easy to be angry, it would have been easy to place the blame as clearly Bob's dad was legally crossing the intersection on a green light and this woman, in the wrong place at the wrong time just missed seeing a red light.   But, these many years later, I am more than certain that she relives that moment more often than we think about this accident.  I am sure it will haunt her all of her days and I wish that were not the case.  We think about his life, she thinks about his death.

Thought I'd see you one more time again

I must have been around 18, maybe 17.

I awoke up one Saturday morning to some disturbing news.

When I was growing up, our neighbor had a couple of grandsons that would visit every few weeks.  Raymond was a couple years older than I was.  I hadn't seen him for years and years.  At one point his brother was my sister's "boyfriend" kinda.  By the time I was 17, his grandmother was no longer living across the street and I cannot honestly tell you how long it had been since I had seen Raymond.

The same weekend, my father got a call from a good friend of his, I'll call him Bill.

Sometime during that weekend, Bill's son was in a Jeep with a good friend.  The friend ran off the road, striking a tree.  Bill received a call from a hospital doctor.  He was told his son was dead.  No "easing into it", no "I'm sorry", just "your son was in an accident and he's dead".  Bill and his wife had no other children.  The hospital doctor then put the friend on the phone.  It was apparently a heart-wrenching call where Bill was in shock and yet still managed to ask the friend if HE was okay.  Bill's son was 20-years-old.

That weekend we found out about Raymond.

While his parents were away, Raymond and a friend were alone in the house when they had "visitors".  Months later there was some story that perhaps (probably) Raymond and his friend had gotten themselves involved with some drug dealers and had not paid them.   Raymond had never seemed like that type of kid, but the "randomness" of what happened would indicate there was some underlying motive.

They believe a couple of men entered the residence.  Raymond and his friend were found tied and gagged.  Each had been shot once in the arm and then once in the head.  I remember hearing the phrase "gangland" style.  To this day, no one has ever been convicted of the murders.

My only thought was that I hoped Raymond had gone first. 

At the time of these deaths, I had not seen either of these two boys for at least 2 or 3 or 4 years.

But they affected me.

I remember feeling so vulnerable.  I remember crying for their families.   Raymond's death obviously brought out the news crews and it was awful to watch the family try to fend off the onslaught.

A couple of days later, I awoke to a James Taylor song.  Whenever I hear it, I am immediately transported to that time when two young men lost their lives and left me all alone. 

Maybe that was when the first time mortality had slapped me across the face.  Neither death actually affected any one thing in my life since they were no longer a part of it, but yet both of them did affect me. 

I was disoriented for many months.  You know.  During your teenage years you believe you will live forever and in one random weekend two deaths assured me that was not true.


Won't you look down on me Jesus
You gotta help me make a stand
Ya just gotta see me through another day
My body's aching and my time is at hand
I couldn't make it any other way.
I've seen fire and I've seen rain
I've seen sunny days I thought would never end
I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend
But I always thought I'd see you
One more time again.

Sometimes "one more time again" never happens.

Top Three Worst Movies Ever - Updated

The number one spot is:

After spending three hours of my life that I will never get back, Nicole Kidman uttered a line I won't repeat that literally caused everyone in the theatre to let out a very audible groan.


Second is:

Geez, for some reason it's another Tom Cruise movie.  I may think he's a freak, but there are few good movies he made, these are not among them.   Of course Top Gun rates up there as one of the good ones as does A Few Good Men, but that may be because of Jack Nicholson.

Third has a great actress and a horrible one. 

I wonder who in their right mind advised Meryl Streep to appear with Rosanne. 

And on the other hand, the hands-down winner of the best movie of all time is:

I LOVE Morgan Freeman in nearly everything he does.

My assessment is not up for debate. 

OK, that doesn't mean you shouldn't post your comments.   That just means that you will be wrong and I will be right.  Kinda like every other day of the week.

Update:

Oh wait, I have to put another movie in 2nd place.  I complete forgot about this one.

I went to watch it with a friend of mine and remember telling her at the end if I had wanted to listen to a bunch of screaming female teenages for two hours I could have just stayed home.  Bad bad movie.  Has Angelina ever made a good one? 

Charlie

One afternoon in August 2004, I took a nap with my grandson fascinated by the current news story.  I had muted the bedroom TV when I had drifted off and awoke to feeling badly for the people in the path of the news.

Category 5.  It had increased while I had napped.  I distinctly remember thinking about how badly Tampa, the projected path before I drifted off, would get hit.  THEN they also reported that the path had changed while I had been snuggling my favorite 2 year old. 

Fort Myers was the new target.

A mere ten months previously we had decided to go out on a limb and buy a vacation home four miles off the beaches of Sanibel Island and Fort Myers beach.

You might remember the hurricane season of 2004.  Three major hurricanes hit the state of Florida in 2004, Two hit in 2005. 

Most people might remember the news reports that Charlie had a direct hit on Punta Gorda, about a hour north of Fort Myers, where ten people lost their lives.  But the first path of the storm, a "reduced" category 4, was Fort Myers, Sanibel Island and Captiva.  North Captiva was actually split in two after the storm.  North Captival came into existence in the 1940's when another hurricane separated the island. 

Since the news focused primarily on Punta Gorda and phones and electricity were out in Fort Myers for days, we did not know if our new place was even still standing for 4 days.

A bit of damage in our community, but our property was safe and sound.  About three weeks later, we flew down to check it out for ourselves.

Back then it was less expensive to fly into Tampa.  I-75 takes a direct path from Tampa through Port Charlotte (Punta Gorda's neighbor) and into Fort Myers in an easy two hour drive.   At Port Charlotte we could see where the path of the Hurricane proceeded across the state. 

The radio playing as we were driving south.  Between the music, we began to hear the reports.  We had ignored them previously.  I mean, who would believe that another hurricane was heading for the state of Florida three weeks after Charlie?

The first reports were that Hurricane Frances might hit the Atlantic side of the state.  At that time Bob's sister lived on the east coast.  We decided to call them and tell them they were welcome to come to Fort Myers to avoid the storm.  They were already in Atlanta getting the hell out of the state, while we continued south.

As I set up our new computer and internet connection, Bob went to the insurance company to get flood insurance just "in case" after Charlie gave us a scare.  When I was plugging in the cables, Bob came back and said, "We may not be taking this seriously enough."  The path of Frances was still not certain and there was talk of it swinging around and coming ashore on the Gulf side.  The ladies at the insurance company were evacuating.

Bob wondered what we should do.  I told him that we were so far south if we decided to try to leave we would likely be stuck on an interstate in the middle of the state and probably in the path no matter which coast Frances would hit.  We decided to stick it out.

We filled the bathtubs with water, ran to Radio Shack to get a battery powered radio, bought flashlights, candles, canned tuna, crackers and whatever else we might be able to eat if we were stranded for days.

Wanna know what's in short supply on the threat of a hurricane?  Batteries and gasoline.  Bob went to many stores to find batteries and they were virtually non-existent.   The shelves of the nearby KMart were empty.  He said the customers were looking everywhere for precious batteries.  He finally spotted a box just dumped at the end of an aisle filled with batteries.  He made sure he had an armload before he found the ladies that were looking for some and told them all where they were.  We placed our emergency supplies inside a storage closet and waited.

Hurricane Frances came ashore on the east coast as a category 2 about 45 miles from my sister in law's home.  The roofing was gone and the accompanying squalls allowed the rain to pour onto the ceiling, which gave way in several rooms.  Before they had time to repair the damage, Hurricane Ivan entered the Florida/Alabama panhandle, whipped around the US emerging back out into the Atlantic and traveled back down into the path of southeast Florida.  They were hit again.

Frances traveled across Florida during the five days we stayed in Fort Myers, going out into the Gulf somewhere close to Tampa.  Fort Myers experienced significant, but not damaging winds from the backside of the hurricane and I had to endure five days trapped inside a coach home with Bob, who cannot sit still for more than 5 minutes, much less 5 days.  Our supply equipment did not include a gun or I might have had to shoot him.

Since the electricity and the internet never went out I at least had an interesting outlet.  I found a webcam of the beach and with only 50 mph sustained winds we decided to trek out to to see for ourselves.  We had to lean against the incoming winds and watched as we saw complete idiots trek out on the pier and dive off with their surf boards riding the hurricane waves coming into shore. 

A few days before, we drove along Estero Boulevard and could see the watermarks left on the buildings.  The piles of rubbage from the watersoaked hotels were lined along the street at least one story high.  As we drove off the beach, we could see the clouds signalling Frances was on its way.

The devastating effect of Hurricane Charley on Sanibel Island ruined the beautifully draped Periwinkle Road.  All of the Australian pines were destroyed and although six years later first time visitors do not see it, the charm of the road is gone.  Sanibel has only one road leading out with (at that time) a drawbridge with a limited tonage capacity.

Nearly all of Captiva has only multi-million dollar homes and is where most of the damage occurred.   The only road leading to Captiva is from the north side of Sanibel. 

After the hurricane, the weight limit on the bridge was reduced, so any debris coming from Sanibel and Captiva was even more restricted.   Months later there were still empty lots in Fort Myers that were a staging dumping ground for the trucks to unload and head back over to the islands.

Even two years later, a trip to Captiva showed these multi-million dollar homes with "blue roofs" and debris.  With all the wealth of the owners on Captiva Island, it proved to me that there are just some things that are just simply physically limited, no amount of money or manpower can change that.

When Katrina overshadowed anything America could imagine, I along with millions of America couldn't believe such a thing could happen in the US.   But when two years later the media was lamenting the lack of progress, I was reminded of Captiva.  There are simply some things from which we humans are physically unable to recover in a "timely" capacity.  If the wealth of Captiva could not fix everything in two years, there was no remote possibility New Orleans could recover from the massive devastation even now.

And all this comes to mind with this horrible, horrible oil spill.  I don't believe BP wants this to continue, I don't believe the Obama administration wants this to continue.  I don't believe anyone wants it to continue.  We are again reminded that there are many things that are simply too great for us mere mortals to deal with quickly.

And I wait.  I hate that Louisiana has such devastation, I hate that it's now hitting the pristine beaches of the panhandle and I hate that I wonder when it will affect Fort Myers, Sanibel and Captiva.

There are no winners here.

This Memorial Day

H/T - Is it Just Me?

Rest in peace my friend

You made me laugh.

Guests

Imagine getting a call from someone you used to work with who now lives in Texas, but haven't seen in a couple years.

Imagine that call and a request that on their way to Chicago, they want to stay at your house for several days, along with their 17 month-old twins.

Imagine them asking if they could then invite a few friends they made while they lived in your town over to your house so it would be so much easier than them having to drag the twins all over the city.

All of the above is true.

Now imagine what having two 17-month-old girls in your house for several days would be like, the chaos, the things that would get broken, the squalling day and night.

That last paragraph is NOT true.

Several posts back I wrote about the two women who have become my daughters of my heart. My Texas daughter and her husband just left this morning and we miss them and those two precious baby girls already.

Although I knew T and her husband would be good parents, I never expected that two barely-toddlers could be so sweet, so good and so little trouble.

These two precious girls stole their way into our hearts and we hate thinking how long it will be before we see them again.

The party they requested was fabulous, 5 little ones running around the house, their parents worrying over leaving a few toys in the floor even though we kept insisting that we let our grandkids scatter the toys in the floors when they visit. We're not the parents, we're the grandparents, aunt and uncle, etc. We get to spoil, it's our pleasure and our right.



When my Texas daughter called to tell us they would be visiting, it was in the middle of the horrible working hours I was putting in February and March. Instead of giving me dread, it perked me up and gave me hope. I was thrilled they were coming, I was thrilled that she knew she could ask.

We are family, not just friends. Family.

We're gonna miss those precious baby laughs and smiles. But we are now planning our big Memorial Day Camping trip with my massive family and our grandson will be joining us. Thank God for this trip or I would probably be going through some dramatic withdrawal about now.

Found this on Facebook. Definitely worth watching

Nineteen Years Ago Today

I said my next husband would be responsible and get along with my family.

Hmmmm. 

At the same job now for 36 years.
Drives me crazy BECAUSE he gets along too well with my family, they encourage his silliness.

Oh, there are other qualities, both endearing and crazy, but I don't have time to list them all.

We're heading downtown for a nice dinner. 

Next year is Hawaii.

Yeah, I guess I'll keep him.   Good man, love him more today than 19 years ago. 

I Vote YES

Next spring we will celebrate our 20th anniversary.  I figure that calls for a GOOD trip.  Here's our next destination:

I've convinced Bob by saying, "I'm planning on going to Hawaii for our 20th, wanna join me?"  After a few weeks of this he finally realized I meant it.    New places make him a little nervous, but once we're there he loves it. 

He hasn't quite figured out yet that I'm planning on making it at least a 2 week trip, with a couple of days in San Francisco as a stop over.  I suppose he might realize it when we don't fly back in a week.

So, I'm doing the research on where to go.  I figure we can hit two islands in two weeks.  I have to pick Oahu for one week, I don't want to not see Pearl Harbor and I think Ko Olina is where we might stay.  Waikiki looks too crowded and the only people who complain about the Marriott in Ko Olina on tripadvisor.com gripe about how out of the way it is with nothing to do but lay by the magnificant beach and the wonderful pools.  I'm good with that, thank you very much.

I think I'd like to be on the Big Island the other week.  Seeing all the volcanoes would be amazing.  I would love to find some isolated tropical paradise tiny "hotel" like they show on Survivor when someone wins a reward challenge.  I don't know if such places exist on Hawaii, but I can't imagine that don't.

And reading through the books, today I read this:

"Every 5 days, there is enough lava coming out of Kilauea volcano's eruption to place a thin venner over Washington DC - all 63 square miles"

Now it's even a BETTER idea for vacation.  I vote "yes" to shipping about a month's worth there.

Our last night in Paradise

At first I wondered where all the fabulous green hills were. 

For me, this was the most anticipated place on our itinerary.  But getting there was hectic and making sense of the directions was a bit confusing although Brian had printed out plenty of instructions.

During the entire hour and a half drive, my finger throbbed miserably and I wondered if I might lose the fingernail.  When we loaded the suitcases in the back of the car, I got my finger nearly permanently wedged between my sisters suitcase and the lousy wheels on the thing.  I yelped and knew the worse was yet to come when I had to yank my finger out otherwise I would be carrying the danged thing by one poor fingernail the entire trip.  I cursed my sister when I finally got up the courage to pull my fingernail out from the evil thing.

An hour later we slowly made our way up some small hillsides.

Where are the valleys, where are the hills, where is the lush countryside?  My heart began to sink a little thinking I was going to be more than disappointed in my expectation.

THEN, as the road narrowed and curled and "ssss" around, the descent was barely noticable.   As we rounded curve after curve, the edges of the road dropped off to breaktaking views.

I wanted to tell Brian to look, but I was afraid he would and I didn't want his eyes off the crazy winding roads.

We had long decided to stay in Volterra after watching a Rick Steves show on Tuscany and he named it his favorite.  An agriturismo is a working farm and after much research, we verified San Lorenzo Podere to be the perfect location for our stay by seaching on flickr.com and finding Rnout's pictures and posting a comment.  He's from Amsterdam and was very helpful in helping us make our decision.  Although flickr is a photo sharing site, it's a great way to get feedback from people who have visited anywhere you might want to go.

By law, an agriturismo must make more profit from their farm than their hospitalities.  San Lorenzo Podere is an olive farm.  The dining room, back in the 1200's was originally a monastery for a small group of monks.  The frescos can still be seen near the window.

When we arrived, we were exhausted from the train rides and the car trip, so we all took a long nap.  Our room was next to the dining room and around five we were all awakened by the amazing aroma emanating from supper being prepared from Marinella and her staff.  Each night there was a full seven course genuine Tuscan slice of heaven.  Brian was hooked on the spaghetti carbanara which is unmatched throughout the world.

The peace and quiet was exactly what we needed in the middle of our trip and "our" agriturismo was perfect with it's breathtaking views and natural pool.  We soon learned a natural pool meant that should you decide to swim, you would likely be joined with the melodious frogs that would sing a beautiful frog chorus for the guests.

Surrounding us was the olive fields.

Brian was lucky enough to return in October when the olives were ripened and caught this picture of Marinella harvesting the olives.

On his second trip, Brian brought me back a bottle of San Lorenzo's olive oil.  Of course I can never use it, although I would love to.

Sadly, it was one year ago tonight we were spending our last night at this heavenly place, planning our next adventure to Rome the next day.

There is more to tell about Volterra and Tuscany itself, but I'll save that for the next post.  Needless to say, this was a tie for the top favorite place in Italy. 

I can't wait to return.

My Favorite Part of Italy

REPOST:

One year ago today, I was watching this sunset on the Italy coast.  I want to go back!!!!

We've argued this point. Brian and I. The places we chose to go were so different and so wonderful that's it's very difficult to actually name a favorite.

We started planning a year in advance, studying, reading, researching. Obviously there were easy choices, Rome, Tuscany, Venice.

I first heard of a not-so-obvious choice when I was waiting on a flight out of Indy to Fort Myers, months before we finally selected our itinerary. Bob had flown out earlier in the day, so I was at the airport alone. I was wanting to learn Italian and stopped at the Rosetta Stone kiosk. (By the way, they are way overpriced at airports.)

While listening to the vendor, a middle-age man was slightly behind me. We struck up a conversation and, as it turned out, he and his wife had been to Italy the previous year.

Then he told me their favorite place. Somewhere I had never heard of.

Cinque Terre.

I sat next to him with my Italy book and he told me about these wonderful towns. Five of them (duh, Cinque). I shared the story with Brian and the more we researched, the more we decided we had to find a way to include it in the itinerary.

Wikipedia says: "The Cinque Terre is noted for its beauty. Over centuries, people have carefully built terraces on the rugged, steep landscape right up to the cliffs that overlook the sea. Part of its charm is the lack of visible "modern" development. Paths, trains and boats connect the villages, and cars cannot reach it from the outside. It is a very popular tourist destination."

"Rugged, steep landscape"? No, they are not kidding.

This is my picture, which is almost exactly like every picture you will find online when you google Cinque Terre.

 

This is Manarola, the least "touristy" of the five towns.  We chose Manarola after alot, and I do mean alot of research.

Our best and most reliable research came from flickr.com.   No, it's not a travel site, it's a picture website.  Typing in a destination and finding people's picture, adding a comment asking for information and.....you get real live feedback on great places to stay.  (This is also how we found our lovely agriturismo in Volterra.)  In Manarola we stayed at Arpaiu.  Their Odina room was an efficiency with two doors that opened directly out to the cliff.

A little closer look at where we stayed.  The orange building with the green shutters that looked directly out to the sea.

Yes, we stayed at the very top of the cliff.  And no, there was no method of reaching the top without walking. 

It's a great place for college kids with all of their luggage stuffed in their backpacks.  For a couple of old ladies and a mid-30 guy who had back surgery 3 weeks prior to our trip.......it was still a great place, just not one easy to get to. 

But it was worth it.

From what I have been able to discern, Cinque Terre was "developed" in 1000 AD.  All I can say is those people had to have been some badasses to manage to build on a cliff side.  Add to that, there was quite a few pirates who found a method to scale the cliffsides and kidnap people.  Geez, we have grown soft compared to the people of that age.

The view out of our room was breathtaking.  The Mediterranean is cold (at least in April), rugged, and crystal blue.

Helen - at the foot of our cliff, in front of the dog rock.

Brian, on the hike between Manarola and Riomaggoire.

Corniglia was our first hike.  I loved the town and found the best pizza in all of Italy there.

On our last night in Manarola, we revisited a restaurant that had the most wonderful minestrone.  Since Brian's back was not cooperating since we sat for awhile on rocks on the Mediterranean, we were planning on heading straight there.

On a whim I decided, despite the argument my calves were giving me, to venture UP the path of Manarola.   I strolled, taking in the stream, the town, the locals and rounded a corner where I literally gasped when I came upon this:

I felt absolutely drawn.  I entered the outer doors where I could hear a service.  Not wanting to interfere, I listened through the crack of the inner doors.   Even though I couldn't understand one word, the chills just ran through me.  I remained there for a couple of minutes and then quietly, awestruck, I left.  

Helen and Brian were making their way up as I descended the "hill".  By the time we reached back up to the church, the service was over and we entered The Church of San Lorenzo, which was built in 1338 AD.  It took my breath away, more so than any grand Basillica throughout Italy.  It was like finding a diamond when you were looking for a rhinestone.

I want to go back.  We spent three nights in Manarola.   Next time I want a week there.  Vernazza, Manarola and Corniglia were soooo worth it.  The Italian Riviera, sounds exotic, doesn't it?

So Cinque Terre and Volterra in Tuscany were a toss up as my favorite places.  Each were special, but then so was Venice and Rome and the Amalfi Coast. 

Pisa?  It has a tower that leans.  I can say I've seen it, but it was the least impressive part of the trip.  It qualifies as one of those "been there, done that".  I would not classify any other part of Italy like that.   Every other place far exceeded my expectations.

The minestone:

Toes dipped into the Mediterranian.

Brian crossing the suspension bridge on a hike between Manarola and Corniglia

Braving the cold splash.  He looks cool here, right?  That's only because I've promised not to post the picture taken a second later where he is turning away like a little girl.  But.... he got a fascinating shot.