Nine Eleven

Ten years ago, I was on a bus in Hungary, heading from Herend back to my hotel on Lake Balaton. I was helping to shepherd a group of 26 American porcelain collectors who had just toured the Herend Porcelain factory. We finished our tour and left the factory at 2:30 PM to return to our hotel on the lake in Balatonfured. A little while later, our tour guide, Norbert, took a phone call. When he hung up and put his cell phone back into his pocket, he said that he had just heard from his office that a plane had crashed into one of the WTC towers in NYC. We all assumed that it was a small plane, like a Cessna or Piper Cub, and asked if he had any details, but he said that was all they'd told him, in case any of our tour members had any business connections with the WTC.

A few minutes later, Norbert's phone rang again. As he answered, I saw his face turn as white as a sheet. "Thank you," he said quietly and replaced the phone in his pocket.

"Norbert - what is it?" I asked.

"That was my office again," he said. "A second plane just hit the other tower, and it was a commercial airliner, not a private plane."

The passengers collectively gasped; the man seated in front of me turned around and we stared at each other for a moment and then simultaneously said, "It's like Tom Clancy's Debt of Honor. We're under attack."

When the bus pulled into the hotel parking lot, we all rushed for our own rooms. I managed to get the TV on to the BBC channel just before the second tower fell. My brain was trying to process the fact that there was one tower visible, not two, as I saw the burning second tower - and then it, too, began to collapse.

I thought I was watching a movie - a terrible disaster movie that had somehow come to life. I couldn't wrap my mind around those images.

I spent the next three hours trying to call the US while I watched the events unfolding on the TV. I learned that there was a fourth missing plane that might possibly be headed for DC - or, as some said, Camp David. Since I had just moved into my new house that was rather close to Camp David (but on the PA side of the state line) I was concerned for my neighbors and family nearby. A little later, when I heard that Flight 93 had gone down "somewhere east of Pittsburgh", I was terrified for my friends and family who lived in the Altoona-Johnstown region, and my friend Linda who lived in Somerset. About the time that I finally got through on the phone to my mom, and then to my boss, I heard that the plane had crashed near Shanksville without killing anyone on the ground.

That evening, our group was scheduled to go to a csarda for dinner and some Gypsy entertainment. About half of the group still wanted to go, as a way to feel normal after the horrific events of the day. We all felt so helpless, though by then most of us had managed to reach our families and businesses back in the States, and no one in our group had lost anyone in the attacks. The other half of the group was reluctant to go out. My collectors' club manager volunteered to go to the csarda so that I could stay with the rest of our people.

We ate a light dinner in the hotel restaurant. The entire place was quiet and subdued. As we were seated with our food, an elderly Hungarian couple came over to us with a young woman. I stood up to greet them and the older folks were sobbing as the young woman said to us, "My grandparents don't speak English, but they want me to tell you that we are so very sorry for what happened in the United States today. My grandfather was involved in the 1956 revolution and says that he has always admired the freedoms of the United States and he is so sorry that you have been attacked by these terrorists." As she finished speaking, her grandparents grabbed me and another member of our group and hugged us as they cried. Pretty soon everybody in the restaurant was crying with us.

We were scheduled to return to Budapest the next morning. When we checked into the Hotel Intercontinental, the manager pulled us aside and told us that the hotel had set up a special lounge area for all Americans who were staying there. They had newspapers from the States, a special TV feed, internet connections, phones to call home, and refreshments - all for free - so that we could keep in touch with our families and friends.

That Friday, we were to take a tour of the House of Parliament building at 1:00 PM. Norbert told us that we were going to go there early because there was a special ceremony going on in the plaza out front, and we would view that prior to our tour. When we got to the plaza about 11:30, there were barricades set up all along the front of the plaza and officials milling about on the other side near the Parliament building. Our group managed to get spots right up front against the barricades, but we didn't really know what it was for. Norbert went to check on the particulars and when he returned, he told us that the original ceremony was to have welcomed the new American ambassador, but she could not leave the States due to the air travel restrictions, so the outgoing ambassador was going to participate in a different ceremony there.

Around 11:45, the Hungarian army band marched out and stood in front of us and began playing the dark, dramatic and stirring Hungarian songs. We saw a man in a dark suit and a taller man in a trenchcoat walk out of the building with some aides and some men in uniform, and proceed to a small flag plaza to our right. Norbert informed us that the shorter man was the president of Hungary and the taller man was the outgoing American ambassador. They went over to the flagpole and conducted a short flag-raising ceremony with the Hungarian flag as the army band played the Hungarian national anthem. By then, the area behind us had filled with a few thousand people and we were pressed against the barricades, but we had a great view.

Then we noticed that the Hungarian flag, which had just been raised, was being lowered again. We couldn't see what was going on because the president and ambassador were between us and the bottom of the flagpole. The army band finished the Hungarian anthem and was silent for a moment. Suddenly, we heard the first notes of the Star-Spangled Banner and saw our flag being slowly raised up the pole. Twenty-eight Americans burst into tears as we heard our own national anthem and saw our flag traveling slowly up to the top of the pole, and then back down to half-staff. Weeping Hungarians were patting our shoulders and handing us handkerchiefs and tissues. When the flag reached half-staff, the crowd seemed to heave a collective sigh, and the president spoke a brief phrase as church bells began to ring. It was noon in Budapest. Norbert leaned over to me and said, "The president said that there will be three minutes of silence."

We were in the center of a city of one and a half million people - and it was dead silent except for the bells. When they had tolled the twelfth hour, the only things that could be heard were the bells' echoes and the sound of a dog barking several blocks away. Traffic had stopped on the spot at noon and no one spoke. Faint weeping could be heard throughout the crowd, and we tried to stifle our sniffles because they sounded like thunder to us in the silence.

When our plane safely landed at JFK the following Tuesday, everyone on board burst into applause.

On the flight back to DC, our jet had to go way out over the ocean to avoid flying over the city. As it banked, we looked down and saw the smoke rising from the WTC site like ghost towers reaching into the sky.

Back at home, suddenly I was living in the "no fly zone" that extended for eight miles around Camp David. The lights of the aircraft that used to be seen at night on their approaches to Dulles, Reagan National and BWI were no longer visible - their flight paths had been moved outside the zone. The constant thunder over my house came from the fighter jets who patrolled 24-7, unseen but not unheard. And if you went out on my deck at night and looked up, you would see slow-moving lights far, far up in the sky - the AWACS plane on its high-altitude mission. Dick Cheney became our temporary new neighbor over at Site R, the "underground Pentagon" just down Rt. 16. And air travel was not so much fun anymore.

Turning the corner?

I made it. I did it. And I actually really enjoyed (most of) my day.

The weather was downright perfect for a road trip - no humidity at all, very clear (great scenic vistas on the way up and back), blue skies with a few puffy postcard clouds and sun, sun, sun. Nancy and I had lunch and then I went over to her store with her and found a lot of great stuff that fit, was cute and wasn't pricey. I put an armload of items on layaway - haven't done that in years.

Then I went to the Railroaders Memorial Museum, but the memorial hall was closed. The girl at the museum desk said that they were renovating the hall (it did need that) and are planning to restore a roundhouse as part of the museum grounds. I looked at the map plan that was on display and it will be pretty darn impressive if they can raise the funds to get it rebuilt.

So, since I couldn't see Leo's plaque, I decided to go to the Horseshoe Curve. Another of my typical August 11th activities, though I don't do that every year (for example, last year I was experiencing a taste bud orgasm from the Bacon Dark Chocolate Cheesecake at Herwig's Austrian Bistro in State College).

Anyway, I got to the Curve, rode the funicular up the steep hill to the viewing area, and read the plaques while I waited for some trains to come. A pair of helpers went up the mountain...no tears. A truck train went up the mountain...still no tears. Another pair of helpers went up the mountain and I STILL didn't lose it. This is progress, people. (I was expecting the coal train to come down after those four helpers went up, but it didn't while I was there. I saw it heading eastbound through Lilly and Cresson later.)

Then I drove up to the cemetery in Lilly and for the first time in eleven years, I did not cry. I got choked up when the trains went by, but I did not cry. I left a dozen red roses on the headstone and headed west so that I could stop to pick up groceries for my mom before I went to her apartment. Visiting the Midgester is an endurance test.

On the drive home from there, I tempted fate by playing some songs that are usually guaranteed to make me cry. Only one almost managed to do it: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8295rOMvtQI&feature=feedf

But this one, which usually does, did not: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fgT9zGkiLig&feature=feedf

However.

Now that I am home, THIS is the one to close out the day.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uNsmF9JTpuI

October skies will be here again soon...my favorite time of year.

11 on the 11th in 2011

Today is the 11th anniversary of Leo's death. He died at age 49 on my dad's 90th birthday. Dad passed away three weeks later, in the early morning on Labor Day.

It still hurts, but most of the time now it's OK. Now, more often than not, I remain dry-eyed when the Norfolk Southern freight trains go by. I still can't hear some songs without crying, and today will be still be difficult - although I'll be busy enough at work that I'll be able to get through that all right. For catharsis tonight, I will take out the packet of greeting cards from Leo that I saved over the short ten years that we were together, and read them all, and have a really good cry.

Tomorrow is my day off, so I'm heading to Altoona to have lunch with Nancy before she goes to work; I'll stop by the Railroaders Memorial Hall to see the little name plaque that I bought for him, and then go to the cemetery in Lilly and spend some time. The weather is supposed to be gorgeous, which actually makes things harder...it makes me think of the days when we would drop the chores and go spend some time exploring the back roads on the Yamaha or the Harley.

I don't compare other men I meet to Leo, because for me he was unique. We were so well matched for each other, and I'm not expecting to meet anyone quite like that again...but damn it, I'd really like to meet someone compatible for the long haul. I have a hell of a lot to bring to the table.

Sigh.

End of pity post. Onward and upward.

The latest downloads

OK, so it takes me a while.

I finally remembered to get around to downloading the latest Death Cab and Incubus releases, "Codes and Keys" and "If Not Now, When?", respectively. Almost done listening to DCFC and loving it, although nothing is as incredible as "I Will Possess Your Heart".

Incubus is next. I wasn't thrilled with the last one, but I previewed this one and liked it. I suspect that I'll still prefer the "old" Incubus stuff. "Wish You Were Here" and "Drive" still make me cry, and most of the tracks on "S.C.I.E.N.C.E." are brilliant.

DCFC will be here on August 6, and Incubus on August 31, both at Stage AE. I still fondly recall when Nancy and I went to see Incubus in Baltimore a few years ago, and the security people at the gate assumed that we were escorting kids. "No, we're here to SEE THE BAND!" The world's oldest groupies, I guess. Then there was the nice suburban family who were sitting in front of us in all their preppy finery...the wife turned around and said to us, "Oh, I just love them - they're sooooo spiritual." WTF?!

Time for some concerts, although I think Rammstein spoiled me back in May.

Harry Potter

Just got home from seeing movie number seven part two.

Wow.

A very emotional experience, partly because it's the last movie, but also due to the content. It was really well done.

And of course I loved hearing my favorite line: "NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!"

The fragile male ego...?

Disclaimer: anyone who knows me also knows that I despise "man bashing" (and "woman bashing" of course), and I am in no way suggesting that all guys fit the following description. I was married to two who didn't. Having said that, you may find that you know some guys like this.

I sold off the last suite of office furniture this evening to a guy from Ohio who was opening a new branch office for his business. He arrived at my old office at 6 with a U-Haul trailer, a toolbox and his son. I had some large case pieces that needed to be partially disassembled for moving, and they didn't have much trouble figuring out that part. (The guy who bought my other office furniture had a four-man crew who were like a clown comedy troupe - I actually had to walk out of the office so I wouldn't have a giggle fit watching them trying to figure out what they were doing.)

Anyway, when I met the guy today, I remember thinking that I hoped he had someone to do his marketing and networking for him, because he had all the personality of a wet Kleenex. What a sad sack.

The funny part happened when they were loading the truck. They had three guest chairs, a desk chair on casters, and a conference table left to load, and they had plenty of room left to do it IF they used a little sense. Of course they did not know that I (a) used to put together furniture like that for a living, (b), used to design furniture displays for stores, so I know what can fit where, and (c) have moved so many times that I can pack a truck in my sleep. They were scratching their heads when I suggested that they take off the top of the conference table, wrap it in a packing blanket and put it either beside or atop the desk so it wouldn't slide around, and they'd be able to fit all the chairs with no problem. Mr. Personality apparently didn't like hearing a suggestion from a female, so he grumped a bit and shoved the furniture around inside the truck, trying to get the table to fit. No go.

Finally he did take the top off the base and voila! it fit like magic. The three guest chairs went right in with plenty of room to spare for the desk chair. But here's where the giggles come in: instead of putting the desk chair in and laying it down so it wouldn't roll (or tying it to the wall), he put it in the bed of his spiffy new Z71 truck and tried to jam the hard tonneau cover down on it. It was very obvious that the base of the chair was about a foot too high for the cover to close, and there was no way to get it to work. I was standing there thinking, "If I had suggested putting that chair in there, he would have looked at me like I was kah-razy". His son was practically standing on the tonneau cover trying to get it down far enough to lock. After about ten minutes I couldn't stand it anymore and said, "Ummm...guys...you have tons of space for that chair in the back of the trailer..." He gave me another dirty look and retorted, "But it might roll around!" I said, "Welllll...you can just lie it down like you had it in your truck bed."

He dug it out of the truck bed and sent his son inside the building to pick up their tools while he secured it in the trailer. I locked up the building and went to get in my car. Before I pulled away, I asked him if he knew how to get back to the Turnpike. He said "YES!" - pause - sheepish look - "Ummm....I think so." I told him the easiest way out was to turn right on Freeport Road (right in front of where he was parked), go to the end and turn right again, take the 28 south ramp for Pittsburgh and take the Harmar exit. I could tell by his expression that he thought they were going to just retrace their steps from the way in, which you can't do because of Dallas Avenue being a one-way street - but I couldn't let him get lost on the back streets of the Heights that way.

He reminded me of Leo's friend Mike on our bike trip out West. Mike insisted on being the trip planner/navigator, but he didn't plan too well and kept running us all over creation backtracking to different sites when we could have spent more time seeing things and less time zigzagging all over New Mexico and Arizona. Poor Mike's ego couldn't handle that a woman might actually be a better navigator than he was, until he got all screwed up in Silver City, NM and realized that I was really good at map reading.

Some guys just need to get over themselves and listen to suggestions from women as well as other men.

A perfect day...

I start my new job on Thursday, so I had an extra two days off after the 4th. My weekend was a blast, and I was going to spend Tuesday doing laundry and cleaning the apartment. I had a 10 AM appointment who didn't show up and then rescheduled (again) for Saturday morning, so I was up and out and noticing what a gorgeous day it was. Hmmmmm...

So I bagged the chores for another day, and took off in the Mini for a road trip. Went up and jumped on I-79 beyond Butler and cruised up to Meadville, then took a couple of little PA routes to cut across up to North East. Sucking down iced coffee and enjoying the ride...blue sky, sunshine, 80 degrees, NO haze of humidity - I could see forever as I topped each ridge. The roof was open and the windows were down and my hair was ruffled by the wind. Daylilies and wildflowers blooming at the roadsides. The smell of fresh-cut lawns and the fields of hay and corn, with the round hay bales looking like big tan marshmallows dropped from God's hands. An occasional Amish buggy and a lot of bikers. I was missing my old Harley, but enjoying the Mini as always.

I topped a ridge just south of I-90 and could see the lake, deep blue stretching far into the distance. I drove down to PA route 5, the lake road, and turned west. Rode that all the way to Conneaut, Ohio, after a stopover on Presque Isle to drive the whole peninsula and sit on the beach for an hour or so with my toes in the sand (in the shade, of course).

As the sun began to sink westward I turned south on route 18 and headed down to Conneaut Lake, then looped back to Meadville for dinner at the Cracker Barrel. My usual: spicy grilled catfish, fried okra and a double helping of hash brown casserole. Yum.

There was hardly any traffic coming home, even when I passed by the Big Butler Fair. Didn't see any deer, either (whew).

Windblown, a little red on my left arm, full of catfish and iced tea and a little hoarse from singing along with the Doors and Death Cab and Depeche Mode and New Order...I pulled in twelve hours after I left. A perfect day. Only one ingredient would have made it even better...

The furries are back! The furries are back!

AnthroCon, the furry convention, is back again. And thus, people 'round the Burgh are either saying "Thanks for spending $5 million bucks here this weekend" (srsly!) or "Ewwwww! Those people freak me out."

I think the furries are...well, I can't say cool, as I have been inside furry costumes for parades and such, and they make you sweat like a pig (hehehe) and the costumes get kinda rank after a while. So, no, cool is not the right word. But whether or not the furries are fetishists or just fun-loving roleplayers, I like how they express themselves.

Of course a few of them are total geekazoids who still live in mom's basement when well into their thirties, but I suspect that most of them are peeps like you and me. The fact that they take time off and spend their bucks to come together for a weekend (some travel here from other countries), to mingle with other furries, shows that they're not loner losers. And I bet they're pretty uninhibited within their animal characters. Roleplaying can be very freeing.

I don't get the people who freak out about the furries...it's really no different than what an actor does. As long as furries aren't kidnapping nonfurries and forcing them to wear stinky plush costumes, what's the big deal?

If I were running for President...

...here's part of my platform, in no particular order.

Stop the wars and bring the troops home. I wasn't against the military actions in Iraq or Afghanistan when they started, but it's dragging on and on and we can't afford it. Get the hell out of Libya, too. Stop committing US troops to cleaning up other countries' business. If they want to kill each other, let them - they're going to do it regardless of whether or not we're there, and they hate us more when we try to "help", so let's stay home and spend the efforts on securing our own country. The only foreign aid from our government should be for humanitarian efforts after a natural disaster.

Stop the other war which has been going on for forty years with nothing to show for it. Yep - the war on drugs. Legalize, regulate, tax and enforce, just as we already do with alcohol. Use the tax monies to fund rehab programs for those who really don't want to kill themselves. Those who are bent on self-destruction may proceed with their wishes. (You'da thunk we'd learned from Prohibition that these efforts do not work and only create more crime.)

Keep the government's nose out of the bedrooms of consenting adults. Period.

The concept of "marriage" should be divided into two parts: the legal "civil union"(for any two consenting adults of either or both genders) and the religious "marriage" (for those who want a religiously-based ceremony). You could have a "civil union" without a "marriage", but not the other way around.

Enforce the laws that we already have that make sense, and quit thinking up new laws for Big Nanny.

No more bailouts.

The USA needs to stop kowtowing to every other country. We worry too damn much about what they think. There will be people who hate us no matter what we do, so let's do what's best for us and help others later. You know, like putting on your own oxygen mask first when the plane is going down.

Farm subsidies would be phased out over a ten-year period, with subsidies for ethanol ending right now.

The income tax code would be rewritten to phase in a flat tax over a ten-year period. No more loopholes, writeoffs or convoluted formulas - everybody plays X% of their income and that's that.

Get out of the UN and kick them the hell out of NYC.

Make Congress a part-time job, and enact term limits. (Ditto for the state legislatures that aren't already part-time. PA needs to reform the legislature like yesterday but since the foxes are guarding the henhouse, it'll never happen.)

Spend the tax funds for the military on truly supporting our service people - decent housing, decent pay, counseling programs, etc. - not on overblown expenditures for stuff.

Get the government out of the way of people who are trying to do business, except for the basics of how employees are treated and how the environment is treated.

Go back to the gold standard for currency.

Did I mention keeping the government's nose out of the bedrooms of consenting adults? ;P

Karma

Karma, cosmic justice, "what goes around comes around"...whatever you call it, I do think it exists. I also think that sometimes we do live to see it happen, though that's rare.

I try to rack up good karma to negate whatever bad karma I created before I realized how things work.

And I also believe that things will work out for the best, no matter how bad they may get in the meantime.

Poplawski and the death penalty

The trial of Richard Poplawski started today...the POS lowlife scum who murdered three cops and wounded another in Pittsburgh in April 2009. Lots of talk on the radio today about how the DA is going for the death penalty instead of plea-bargaining for life in prison without parole, and how that is going to waste over a million bucks (the estimated cost of this first trial, assuming there will be at least one more on appeal).

Poplawski is guilty as sin - no question about that. PA doesn't execute anyway, so basically he will be in prison for life with no parole. The big difference is that apparently, because of the costs of the appeals trials and maybe special prison housing (I tried to find out if they keep the condemned folks in solitary, but the DOC website doesn't say), it costs even more to keep a death-penalty inmate than a regular one.

I wonder why the high costs in either case? And why we don't execute the felons that we KNOW are guilty? There is no way that reasonable doubt exists in this particular case. I say, one appeal, completed within two years of the original verdict, and if the original verdict stands, have a speedy resolution and carry out the execution. PA does lethal injections - or would, if they carried out any.

In Poplawski's case, I would volunteer to shoot the SOB. For free. He doesn't even deserve that quick mercy.

Begin at the beginning.

I realize there are eighty million bazillion blogs out there but I'm not adding my two cents to the fracas in order to be recognized; I'd just like a place to sort out my views on current events, sometimes to figure out my own positions - I like things to be "fair and balanced" (I'm a Libra through and through) and I see way too many extremist rantings from both the right and the left. Not that I am middle-of-the-road. If I had to be labeled I guess I'd be a libertarian/capitalist/"twoo" republican/economic conservative/social libertarian. In short, I think government should be as small as possible and should quit sticking its nose in citizens' private business. Especially the Federal government. Yes, that includes people's bedrooms. As long as you're not harming anyone else - especially children - what you like to do and with whom, as consenting adults, is nobody else's business.

I am not anti-union (I was married to a union member), but I think unions have bloated themselves to the point of doing their members more disservice than service these days, to the detriment of efficiency and effectiveness. I think socialism is evil. I think that too many people fail to either think for themselves or to think things through (and I am also guilty of that, quite often). I also think that the USA is the greatest country based on the greatest idea ever conceived - government of the people, by the people and for the people. Now if the people would step up and use their brains in a consistent manner, we'd all be better off :D

I don't like name-calling by lefties, righties or in-betweenies. There IS such a thing as civil discourse, and by God I intend to practice it. So if I don't, feel free to call me out on it.