I remember.

Has it really been ten years? I sat at work and heard Loretta say, as she hung up the phone, "That was Doug. He said a plane just hit the World Trade Center." To be honest my first thought was, "What is the World Trade Center?" Of course I had heard of it before, and of course I knew the New York skyline included two tall buildings, but I had never really sorted it out in my head as to what they were and what their names were. People know my parents live in Nebraska, but often when they ask how they are doing they say things like, "Are your parents still out there in....what is it, Montana? Kansas?" I always just reply with, Nebraksa. This is usually followed with, "Oh yeah, I knew it was one of those states out west of us." My knowledge of specific buildings in the NY financial district was just as fuzzy.

The tone in Loretta's voice, rather than my ability to conjure up the WTC, was my clue to something being wrong. In many ways it was work as usual that day. We didn't have access to a television. This was long before facebook and smartphones. We had the radio on and that was how most of the news of the day filtered in. There were a few images online, but 10 years ago the internet still wasn't nearly as developed as it is now with regards to how quickly news makes it online. One customer, a librarian, in New York City placed an order via email. His email said he could see the smoke from the downed towers and thought it was absurd to be ordering books at a time like this, but really didn't know what he would do if he went home. I remember faxes and emails from vendors and customers all over the world. Some weren't even attached to orders. Just notes of sympathy and concern.

Without the benefit of television images, at first I had no grasp of the hugeness of the situation. I very clearly remember wondering if this would interrupt Big Brother on TV that night and hoping it didn't because it was getting towards the end.

There were only two points that day I felt nervous. When the 4th plane went down it was the first time I wondered how wide spread this was. Could there be civilians waiting in houses all over the country ready to begin an attack on the ground? When they decided the best hiding spot for President Bush to be 20 stories underground in my parent's back yard (Offutt Air Force Base) I felt nervous. Otherwise I just felt like my brain was having a hard time processing so much tragedy all at once.

I remember the eerie silence in the sky. How strange it was to hear a plane and realize it was military since all other flights were grounded. I remember going to Bob Evans with Brooke, Meagan, and Danielle. Thankful to have Meagan and Danielle's chatter in the background while Brooke and I tried to make sense of the day. I remember Jenny saying over and over, "I can't believe there are no survivors", as the news reporters had no tales of rescue to broadcast. I remember realizing that unlike other disasters this would be different due to cell phones. People stuck in their cabin on the Titanic couldn't call their family for one last goodbye. Those trapped in the tower or on Flight 93 had a lot of time and the technology to make calls. We know a lot more of what happened in the final moments of people's lives because of cell phones.

I remember finding an auction on Ebay for a simple postcard of the twin towers. It was launched before the attacks and had no bids up until that morning. It went from an opening bid of somewhere around a dollar, to $50 or $60 by the end of Tuesday night. The seller later updated the auction to say that all profits from the auction would be donated to a 911 charity.

A few days later I remember feeling irritated at all the media's advice to "go out, shop, live your life, take vacations, be normal" otherwise the terrorists will win. I didn't see how blowing my money at the mall made sure the terrorists didn't win. We were sucker punched that day. I do not think it would have been out of line to be advised to evaluate life, decide what is important, and appreciate what we had taken for granted.




I remember how angry this picture made me. The pilot dipped one wing just before hitting the building to maximize the plane's destruction. Straight on the plane would have hit 2 or 3 floors. Tipped it was able to cause damage on many floors. The whole attack was so brutal and senseless. I'm not sure why this act made me angry. Perhaps I wanted to think that there was some doubt in the terrorist's mind as to whether or not he had done the right thing. Imagine your very last act on earth being to make a calculated effort to cause as much death and destruction as possible.

I went to bed that night knowing a line in the sand had been drawn. We could never go back. My generation did not have a JFK, or Pearl Harbor type event to point to. My soon to be born niece or nephew would never know a time when 911 hadn't happened. 10 years later the events of that day are still just as horrifying.

Everyone has one....at least mine behaves herself!

So, they say everyone has a twin. I stumbled on mine yesterday. This picture was shown to me:



It was a picture on a Groupon advertisement for a place in Ft. Wayne that sells chocolate. I'm sure my jaw fell on the floor. It isn't me, but could be. The color of the purse is wrong, but the style is right and I carry it on my right shoulder. That is my body language, the color of hair and how I wear it when it is pulled back. I balance on one foot like that and there is something familiar about how she is pointing to the counter even though no one seems to be waiting on her. If I needed to think about what to purchase, reaching out and touching the glass would help me think. The glasses, the earrings, the plain black shirt--all feel familiar. I can't tell if Groupon Marti is standing in front of the dark chocolate, but she should be. That is the only chocolate in my opinion.

I emailed the picture to my mom and sister. Jami had opened the same Groupon earlier that day and thought it looked like me before I sent her my email.

I'm glad Groupon Marti wasn't doing anything embarrassing. I had another friend a while back ask me if I was in South Bend over the weekend. I said I wasn't. She then showed me a picture she took of what looked exactly like my car (very distinct old, light colored station wagon) parked right outside of a really raunchy adult bookstore. :-)

That is what neighbors do.

I'm not sure what the statute of limitations is on a story, but this one took place a few months ago. With as warm as it is now, the pics are hard to identify with.

I have a love/hate relationship with snow. I love cold weather. I think snow is beautiful. I could spend an entire day in a warm house, staring out the window as snow lightly falls, but................I hate dealing with snow removal. I hate driving in it. I I hate coming home from work to find the city plows have cleared the snow from the streets right into my driveway. Enough said.

So.

I figured out a way to be as prepared as I can for the "getting out in the morning" issue. In the winter when I come home from work, while it is still daylight and the driveway is clear I back into my garage. Faithfully. It is much easier to drive out of a snowy driveway than to back out of it. You never know when that surprise snow storm will hit in the night, and that way I'm ready. Until that fateful day. I carefully backed into.....my ditch. Not my driveway. Not really close to my driveway. You know that moment where you realize one little ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure? I had that moment. I tried rocking it out. Nothing. Tried again. I was making it worse. I grabbed my phone and called Meagan. I told her I backed my car into my ditch and could she send Michael or her Dad down. She laughed. It was such a well placed and much needed laugh. Despite not having a clue as to what I was going to do, it was really funny. I knew later I'd laugh too.

Niether Michael or Dan were home so I was back to my predicament. I looked up and coming down the road are two people running towards my car. Dressed in coats, hats, gloves, boots and carrying a shovel. I hadn't been stuck for longer than 4 minutes at this point. In my amazement I wondered, "Were they just sitting, waiting in full winter gear on the odd chance I got stuck?" It was a middle aged father and his 20 something daughter and there no time for panic, worry, or regret. They set out to get me out as if there was a $20,000 bonus attached to the job. They were Asian and I mention that only because they were both very small, and slender. I thought....oh bless your tiny little selves. Two of you equals one of me and you are attempting to get my car unstuck.

They tried and tried and tried. It wasn't budging. It wasn't terribly stuck, just that the angle of it made it impossible to get any traction. Then she went home and came back with her car and a thin nylon rope. She tied her car to my car with the idea that she would give it just enough oomph to find some traction. Nope. No go. In fact the rope snapped. At this point I was ready to thank them for their efforts and call a tow truck. After all, that it was tow trucks are for. People who drive themselves into their ditch. They were far from done though. They were still shoveling and pushing and working hard. The car remained determined to be ditch bound. The daughter then says to her father, "You know. The only place she is really stuck is this small little clump of ground. The tires cannot get over it. If we could somehow lift the car over the bump I think we could get her out." He looked at her and with all seriousness said, "Yes, but the car is very heavy." That wasn't stopping her. She got her and her dad into position by the driver side front tire. The plan was to hit the gas when they lifted.

I was a little concerned that with the snow and slush and slope that if the plan did work and my car was free it might drive right over them in the process. They had been very helpful up to that point and running over them seemed like a lousy end to the story. But, we tried it. Lo and behold those two very small people lifted just enough at just the right spot that when I pressed as steadily as I could on the gas the front tires cleared the obstacle. Once the front tires hit the street there was enough power to pull the rest of the car out of the ditch. And, I didn't run over them.

I was so relieved I jumped out of the car and ran over and hugged her and thanked them profusely. I asked if I could pay for their time or the broken rope. "No, no. We were just helping. That is what neighbors do." Their motivation was purely out of my need for their help. All I could do was graciously accept their kindness. As we parted and said our goodbyes she said "Go. Now hurry so you can get to work on time." ARGH! I realized that the direction the car was facing made it appear that I was driving OUT rather than backing in. They thought I was late for work. I sheepishly explained that I was home from work, backing in, trying to avoid something like what had just happened. She wasn't phased. They happily headed home.

While the event was taking place I had to resist the urge to ask if I could take pictures of it. As much as I knew it would be great later, I knew that at the time it might come off as rude, insensitive, self absorbed--take your pick! So I didn't ask. But later, when I thought the appropriate amount of time had passed I grabbed my camera and took pics of the ruined snow. The first picture shows how far I missed my driveway. I wasn't even close. It looks like my goal was to end up in the middle of the yard. The next two pics show the area where my front tires were stuck.





A few weeks later, after the snow melted I was in my driveway and noticed some of the nylon rope that had snapped. I made a mental note to remember to pick it up later and promptly forget about it. Several days later I saw it again. Here:

A momma robin spotted it and thought it would make a nice, blue addition to her nest. It is kind of hard to see in the picture, but the blue streak hanging from the nest is the rope. It has been a daily, visible reminder of my neighbor's kindness.

Is that even possible?

Take a good look at what is going on in this picture. Ignore my deliriously happy nephew who looks like he just threw the winning touchdown in the super bowl. Right in the middle. Do you see it? Deep. Fried. BUTTER. The deep fried kool-aid makes me wonder how it works and what is involved. But deep fried butter? I don't get it :-)

Entertainment, Branson Style.

The "show" is the heartbeat of Branson Entertainment. Most revolve around singing, some involve dance, comedy, magic, martial arts, acrobatics, etc. We saw this family today. There are a lot of "family" groups in Branson. They have a certain similarity to them.

They range in numbers anywhere from a handful to a small village. One group we saw a couple years ago was a Mormon family. Five brothers, all singers, all married, all with many children. By the end of the show there was at least 50 people on the stage.

The whole family works the show. They work hard and are extremely talented. Like them or don't like them you can't argue with their talent. They work every aspect of the production. Ticket sales, and ushering and clean up. Some have hotels and diners and clean rooms and serve food. The "stars" aren't pampered or untouchable. There are 100 others shows in town just like them and they can't afford to be unapproachable or to rest on their accomplishments. I'm not sure they work any harder than average folks with 9-5 jobs but I think of the lack of talent and mind numbing "success" in these ladies:


...compared to the talent I've seen in Branson.





































The entire family is worked into the show. They all seem to be able to sing and play 30 instruments, no matter how large the family. I've often wondered as I watch a show what happened if one of the kids doesn't want to pursue the music/entertainment industry. I imagine the conversation would go something like this:

Child: Mom, Dad, there is something I want to discuss with you. I've been thinking about it for a while.

Mom/Dad: Yes, what is it?

Child: I know I come from a family of entertainers. And I know music has provided us with many opportunities, but I've decided it isn't for me. Instead I want to go to school and become a Doctor.

(Awkward silence)

Mom/Dad: (pausing to regain composure, conjure up support) Why? Didn't we raise you to be better than that? We always told you to find your own path, and make your own choices but what we meant was you could choose the french horn over the fiddle. A Doctor? (Dad looks to Mom) But what will we tell our friends?



There is also ALWAYS a tribute to the armed forces. It isn't optional. Every show works a military tribute into the line up. The most awkward one I saw was a show featuring a family of Native Americans. The main singer was full blood Native American and was adopted as an infant and didn't find out until he was an adult (after both parents died) that he was Native American. He reconnected with his birth family now tours with his daughter and several members of his tribe, performing Native American music and dance.
If ANYONE should get a pass from the military tribute it should be a group of Native Americans! With as lousy as our military and government has treated Native Americans I would think their tribute would consist of a defiant fist, with perhaps one raised finger......but they came up with a tribute. It mostly consisted of reporting on military involvement on the part of Native Americans in recent wars. (The Navajo Wind Talkers in WW2)




While waiting in line today to get tickets there was a member of the Brett family's road crew. His back was to me and I could see the cities in the "2011 Brett Family Tour". I scanned the list and saw.....New Castle, Wyoming. I have family in New Castle (hey Kristin!) and while it has been a while since I've been to New Castle, I remember it being quite small. I've never seen it listed in a tour schedule. We asked him about being in New Castle. He right away responded excitedly with, "Oh yeah, New Castle! It was this little place out in the middle of no where. No cell phone reception but man did they have good omelets. Wonderful omelets with steak in them. I want to go back to New Castle just to get another omelet." Well now... Of all the things I thought he'd talk about, omelets would have been way down on the list.

What say you, Kristin? Is there a restaurant in New Castle with really great omelets?

Pay Dirt.

I am on vacation in Branson, Missouri. A place with so much natural beauty is almost hurts to view it. A place where being 40 makes me a youngster. Branson is where old entertainers go to retire. Las Vegas for the over 80 crowd.

The day started in Indy at 4:00 AM. In a stroke of luck that could not be planned my departing flight left IND at 7:05. My BIL, Jake, was leaving for a missions trip and his flight left at 7:00. The entire house was up and bustling by 4:30 AM. There was time for me to see Jake's team checking luggage and taking care of last minute passport information. I then headed off to my gate to begin my journey.

After an uneventful flight I touched down in Kansas City and waited for my parents to meet me (driving down from Omaha). I got to spend some quality time in the Kansas City Airport. When looking out the windows your eyes are not sure what to make of the massive tarmacs, with gigantic airplanes coming and going and nestled just behind the concrete are acres and acres of.....grazing cows and farmland. Only in the Midwest!

While heading south of Kansas City some of our time was passed on the phone with Jami who excitedly relayed the story of mechanical trouble with the plane Jake was on which caused the airport to swap out planes--only it was a smaller plane. Passengers were being bumped and 11 members of his team made it on. The trouble being that there were 12 members, and number 12, Jake, didn't have a seat. He stood in the airport, completely alone, trying to figure out how to meet up with his team. One by one stand by passengers names were called. He realized he had all of the team's cash in his backpack. Finally, his name was called. The very last person to get a seat...

Meanwhile we were having to make our own important decisions. Namely where to eat lunch. We hadn't seen too many options for a while so when the first place popped up we headed towards it, despite the fact that it was an A/W Root Beer and Long John Silver. At the very last second as we were turning in I saw what could have been the letters "BBQ" on a building. We turned the car around, and found this:






Hopefully, the money they saved in repairs and upkeep was spent in food. We walked in and it was a tiny, little room with 10 or 12 tables, dark brown paneling, and a handful of customers. We seated ourselves and a pleasant woman approached the table. No uniform or name tag. She said today's special was chicken and something or other and....(I kind of zoned out).....everything is homemade and the mashed potatoes are peeled and mashed by hand. My attention was back. Ah. Pay dirt. We had hit pay dirt. I knew it. And I was right. A few thing were pre-made(buns and chips), but the rest was made from scratch. There was nothing fancy about the presentation. White plates. Serving sizes that were in line with what the average human should consume and not the mega portions we are used to from most restaurants--and the prices reflected portion size. Dessert was homemade coconut cream pie with homemade crust. It was amazing.





I've heard that if you are in an unfamiliar town and do not know where to eat to observe where the locals go. The locals went here. Really. Aside from our table and one other table EVERYONE knew each other. As one customer entered the waitress simply said, "today is the noodles". He nodded and seated himself. In one corner there was a group of people that could have perhaps been the Dukes of Hazzard, 30 years later after neglecting their dental work, hair care and all attention to fashion. Uncle Jesse was there, as were Bo and Luke. Daisy joined them at one point--the years hadn't been kind to her. They were loud and happy and very much enjoyed their fellowship around the table....and with everyone else that entered. Not being at their table was not seen as a reason not to visit with others.

It was a great find.

Up the road a bit we stopped at Gordon's for some peaches. I think their editors were on vacation this week. There was a sign advertising home "growen" tomatoes. There was also this sign I noticed as we were paying for the peaches:



I was so confused. Are they lucky because if you purchase two you might only pay $.25? If you ask for one do they make you take two? How would pricing work for three? Does this special make sense and I just don't get it?







The view from our table at supper.



This view is why I enjoy Branson. If I have to drive past the Osmond Brothers and Mel Tillis to get there, so be it!

Sometimes you have to know when to break the rules.

Tonight I went outside to water my plants--a job that by this point in the summer has long since lost its glamour. I've got my ipod going, with the ear buds firmly in place, paying no attention to my surroundings. I bend over to turn on the faucet, with my eyes down, happily lost in the book-on-cd I've downloaded and I hear......."Meow?". I swear. If a cat can form the sound meow to come out in the form of a question, this one did.

My first thought is that it is one of my cats and I can hear her through the window. Nope. My second thought is that one of my cats scooted out the door with me. Nope. I look around to see the source and find this:



Only it wasn't resting on the ground. It was stuck on a cat's head. (I've met this cat once before. I was watering my flowers and turned around and there she was. When she saw me she flopped down, exposing her belly, wanting to be petted. I obliged. We exchanged pleasantries and she was off.) The question I heard in the "Meow?" seemed now to say...."Could you help me out? I seem to have gotten myself into a situation here and I'm not sure what to do."

I froze. I had no idea how much distress this kitty was in. I'm a little surprised as I think back over the situation how quickly I took in the bizarre scene, triaged what she needed and acted. My first instinct was to rush towards her but if I knew if I did she might run. I made myself slowly walked towards her. I didn't want to grab the bag until I knew I had a good hold on it, because if she took off who knows if she would have gotten help before suffocating. Without a lot of drama or fuss she let me approach her, grab the bag and tug it off.

She still didn't bolt, so the next thing to check on was if she wanted some comfort. When I petted her she leaned in to my touch. Relaxed. Closed her eyes a little. Safety and comfort taken care of I noticed how thin she was. I know the first rule of stray cats is to never feed them because they'll just come back. I know. I know. I know. I kept seeing the image of this poor kitty with no one to love her, having to scavenge for food, ending up with a bag of cheese stuck on her head trying to feed herself. To heck with the rules.

I rushed in my house, grabbed a Tupperware bowl and a handful of cat food and rushed back out. To say she inhaled it would be an understatement. Poor thing. She was starved. I watched her eating and started mentally going through the steps it would take to get her cleaned up and make her mine. Vet visit, shots, declaw, introducing her to the other cats......but my plans were short lived. I let her finish her meal in peace and when I came back she was gone. I wondered briefly if she is part of a kitty grifter ring and the "head stuck in the cheese bag" was her go-to grift. I could hear her boasting to her kitty friends, "Heh. Heh. I swear it works every time. Walk up to a human with something stuck on your head and you should see how fast the food comes flying out!"

She may be back. She might not be. Either way she was brave enough to ask for help, and I was there to provide it.

Here you go, Sharon! :-)

I've told this story several times and it still hasn't gotten old, so I figure it is worth blogging. My mom and I recently had a conversation that went something like this:

Mom: "I got a response from something I put on Craig's List and let me see if you think this is somehow a scam."

Me: "If you have to ask it probably is."

Mom: "Someone is interested in your Dad's laptop and they want to know if I'll take Paypal. They also say that for my trouble they'll pay me $120 more than my asking price."

Me: "Ah. Total scam. We see this kind of thing at work a lot. Next thing he'll ask you to go out and buy two cameras, keep one for yourself, charge him for the whole thing and send it overnight to Nigeria regardless of the cost of shipping."

Mom: "Why would he offer to pay more than my asking price"

Me: "Because he is paying with a stolen credit card and doesn't care what he pays because--he's not paying for it. Best thing to do is just drop it. Don't write him back, just be done. Did he write in all caps and call himself something that is supposed to sound vaguely American like MR. KEVIN or MRS. SYLVIA?"

Mom: "Well....he signed it Paul McCartney."

There you go. This is where the scammer's sometimes clever plot falls apart. They sort of, but do not quite know how to blend in culturally. A friend at work thought they should have tried Bart Simpson. Princess Diana and Michael Jackson would have been just as effective.

Lordy, lordy look who's.....

You know how the title ends....40. And the answer is, yours truly. Well, almost. In less than 48 hours I will bid farewell to my 30's and enter my 4th decade on this earth. I'm not afraid of this birthday. I'm not depressed or anxious, or resistant....at least that is what I keep telling myself!

I plan to celebrate the heck out of this milestone. For the next 365 days is it my birthday. One big, year-long celebration. A few months ago my sister asked me what I was going to "do" for my 40th. Hmmmmmm.....avoid it. Worry. Pester my self for being 40 and not being married with kids. Look fondly in the rear view mirror and remember the good days. A very tiny voice in my head said....you don't have to do that, and if you did what good would it do?

Ah. And with that I let myself off the hook. Which felt good, because we were not designed for the hook. I'm just going to have fun with this birthday.

And the really good news is,I've got plenty of sick time banked that I can use when I need hip and knee replacement surgery :-) Perhaps I'll learn Braille while recovering from the surgery so I'll still be able to read when my eyesight goes. Maybe a subscription to Prevention magazine. The possibilities are endless.

40, ready or not here I come.