Yes, I work at that certain un-named company that put on the big, inadvertent fireworks show.
Yes, I was near it just before it got started (4-5 miles). Yes, I’m fine.
I won’t say very much, because I don’t usually talk about my employer on my website. Not for having nothing good to say, just a line I don’t care to cross. Some people are sensitive to anything said about them, I don’t want to … erm, “fan the flames”, as it were.
But for family who’s wondering:
People were there at the time.
Nobody got hurt.
The rest of the business is doing okay.
Work and Life go on.
Thanks for your concerns and prayers, please keep them coming… Lots of people who usually work there are affected by this.
Confession is supposedly good for the soul. Mine’s always been just fine with forgetfulness, but since it’s at the front of my mind today…
I’m sorry I forgot your birthday.
I’m sorry I was too selfish with my time to let you spend any with your great grandson, or more with your great granddaughter. It wasn’t thought of as a decision not to let you have that time. Just a decision to do other things. Same result.
I’m sorry I didn’t come to see you since Grandpa died. I’m sorry I didn’t go see him while he was sick, either – even though at the time I was convinced I’d rather not see him or you in that condition. I wish I could change that decision.
I’m sorry my opinion of you lately was “cranky” more than “lonely”. And that I thought you needed to be alone, more than to have company.
I’m sorry that I let other people form that opinion for me.
I’m sorry I don’t have a picture of you and I. Or Grandpa and I.
I’m sorry my children won’t have pictures of themselves with you or Grandpa.
I accept responsibility for these things.
I still remember how your cheek felt against mine. How the water at your house tasted. Going to visit you while you were camping, and the tuna sandwich you made me on pumpernickel bread. How much you always knew about what everyone else was up to. How you had so many photos and stories of so many of my relatives. How I never heard you speak a cross word to me.
I will also never forget porcelain dolls I was not allowed to touch, pet birds I was not allowed to touch, statues of dachshunds, Christmas villages, your cuckoo clock, your doilies, or the Cambridge diet.
I’m grateful I knew you.
I’m grateful you knew Jesus.
I’m grateful for the birthday and Christmas cards.
I’m grateful for the dollars per birthday and time together and doughy-cheeked hugs and kisses.
I’m grateful for the last conversation you, Grandpa and I had – when I learned about the day you got married so young, and how you moved south when you were little.
I regret that all the memories of you that I can summon take so short a space to write down. I hope I’ll remember more than this, for the rest of my life.
I love you, and I’ll miss you.
I’m expecting a package, shipped by ground from Las Vegas to my home in Adrian, MI. I decided to see how long Google Maps thinks that trip would take.
As I perused the results, I traced the little blue line for a while, to see what course they’re following, and what towns it goes through. I didn’t expect it to actually go through a town.. Lo and behold, I’ve found that Davenport, Iowa is in mortal peril. Google has decided it’s more effective to cut across town than to take the highway around it. Beware, Davenport.
Actually, you’ll notice the blue line veers off the road a bit on the east side of town, too. Does Google’s blue line get drowsy like a real driver? Is that a side-trip to see the world’s largest ear of corn?
And by the way, I flipped 230,000 miles on my CR-V yesterday. I think upon 239,000, I’ll christen the car “Alice”. As in, “To the moon, Alice!”