THE DAY OF A KILL

It had been a very mild October. Most days, I didn’t even need a jacket.

The day seemed ominous from the start. I awoke at five thirty that Friday morning, as I did every work day.

Maybe it was just the heavy rain that made the day feel like something bad was going to happen. Maybe it was the idea that there had already been nine murders in three weeks so far, but there hadn’t been a kill in two days, so why would anyone think today would be the next one?

Being alert had become a way of life for everyone from Montgomery County, Maryland to at least Spotsylvania, Virginia. Anytime you were out in the open, you were a target. You were constantly aware; always looking. What would you see? No one had seen the shooter yet. What would make you think you would be the one to see him; to be able to avoid that piercing, hot bullet that could end your life?

For three weeks, every time you exited your car to fill your gas tank, to drop off dry cleaning, to go to the grocery store, to do anything out in the open, your thoughts were of survival. Anyone could be the shooter.

It was October 11th. It was pouring rain and would be all day. I got on I-95 and drove the twenty one miles south to my job in Fredericksburg. I worked as a corporate assistant for a property management/land development firm.

Our office was celebrating National Bosses Day, as many offices were. Although in past years, the staff had either made and brought in something, or given money to buy the extras for the Bosses Day Brunch, this year we had all decided to do a lunch instead, and we all donated money for the lunch. A few of us had met earlier and ordered a cold cut tray, a fruit tray and salads. Whoever was least busy would go to the store and pick them up.

The morning was quiet. Our company was in the process of building a shopping village, but you can’t build in torrential rain and when there’s no outside activity, office activity also slows down.

I was the one who pulled the short straw, so to speak, so I had to go out and pick up the grocery items for our lunch.

It was about nine thirty as I headed out the door to the Food Lion grocery store about a mile and a half away. After I got on the road, I called my husband at his job and asked him if he could meet me at the store and help me load everything into my car. He said he would.

The traffic was heavy and slow, but I made it to Food Lion in about ten minutes. I zipped through the store and picked up paper plates, plastic forks, knives and spoons, plastic cups, potato chips, the food trays we had ordered and some various odds and ends. Just as I was going through the check out, my husband came in. I was really glad to see him. I was not looking forward to loading all those items in my car by myself and wearing wet clothes at work the rest of the day so I was glad for the help.

Once everything was loaded in the car, we said our good-byes and each of us headed back to our job. I drove the short distance back to Mine Road and headed toward Route 1. Mine was the fifth car in line at the traffic light. On my right was Holiday Inn. On my left was the Exxon station. Ahead, at the intersection were police cars as far as I could see. I had no idea what was going on. Since it was raining in torrents, I assumed there had been a traffic accident, but there were an unusually large number of police cars for a traffic accident. No traffic was moving in any direction.

I turned and looked toward the Exxon station to see if I could turn around and go back and find another way back to work. I had a back seat full of food and needed to get back in a reasonable amount of time.

As I began to make the turn, I noticed what I thought was a pile of laundry laying on the pavement of the gas station. There were two men standing next to the ‘pile’ and someone kneeling down next to ‘it’.

I continued on my way and went to the next street over to try to get back to Route 1, but there were just as may police cars at that intersection. What was going on? Instead of turning left toward Route 1, I turned right. As I traveled down Route 2, there was hardly any traffic. What a relief. Even though it was the long way around, I might get back to work faster that way.

My cell phone rang; it was my daughter. “Mom, where are you?” I replied, “I’m on Route 2, trying to get back to work.” I briefly explained to her what was going on. “Mom”, she said in an excited tone. “Haven’t you had your radio on? There’s been a shooting right near your office. They think it’s the sniper again.” She said, “I was worried about you. I called your office and they said you were out on an errand.”

“I saw it”, I said. I could feel the blood draining from my face. “I saw the shooting victim on the ground at the Exxon station, but I didn’t realize it was a person. I thought it was a pile of laundry.”

“Mom, why would laundry be laying on the ground at the gas station”, she asked. “I don’t know”, I said. “It’s just the way my mind interpreted it. I’ve never seen a dead person on the ground before.”

We talked for another minute or so and then we ended our conversation with my daughter admonishing me to be careful and me promising to call her when I got back to work.

I continued on Route 2 to Route 17 and headed back to Route 1, but my nerves were totally shot. I felt like crying. I felt like vomiting, but I had to hold myself together and keep driving. The cold food items on my back seat must be getting warm by now.

I decided to call work. They must be wondering what’s taking me so long. It was nearly noon already.

Tara answered the phone. “Where are you? Are you ok?” She sounded worried. I briefly explained what had happened and assured her I was fine. She already knew about the shooting. She had her radio on and had seen the traffic back-up on Route 1. I told her I was about ten minutes away from the office, but I didn’t know how long it would take me due to the situation.

It actually took me another forty-five minutes to get back. I pulled my car up in front of the door and went inside. It must have been obvious how shaken I was. Everyone gathered around me and wanted to make sure I was ok.

One of the guys went out and started bringing the groceries in. Someone told me to sit down. The relief of being back in a familiar place and being with familiar people allowed me to let my guard down. My body started shaking and I was unable to hold back the tears of relief.

Everyone was so kind, so concerned. Someone handed me a box of tissues. Someone got me a glass of water. Everyone got busy and set up our luncheon. They thanked me for going out to get the groceries and apologized for the trauma I had endured while I was out. I thanked them for their concern.

I was unable to eat lunch, but I sat with the group while they ate. They tried to keep the mood light, told some silly jokes and bantered back and forth; anything at all to relieve the seriousness of the day.

Once lunch was over and we had all helped with the clean up, the company owner gave me the rest of the day off. He told me to go home and relax and get a good night’s sleep. He said, “Try to put this out of your mind.” I thanked him and left for home.

It wasn’t until I got home that I had the presence of mind to call my daughter back and let her know I was fine.

My husband and I exchanged our stories of our difficulties getting back to our respective jobs, although my attempt at getting back was much more difficult than his. Once he got north of the Massaponnax area, it was smooth sailing for him.

Although that traumatic day finally came to a thankful end, the shootings continued another eleven days. The last person killed by the ‘D. C. Snipers’ was a bus driver in Aspen Hill, Maryland.

As you probably know, the snipers were captured October 24th while sleeping in their car at a rest stop near Myersville, Maryland, but the emotional effects on the area lasted long after that.

As a final twist of fate for me, my daughter was in school at the time all of this occurred, getting her master’s degree in forensic psychology. As part of her course of study, she did her internship in the office of attorney, Michael Arif, who was assigned to defend Lee Boyd Malvo, the younger of the two snipers and she assisted in the research for the case.

It’s mind boggling how things tie into things. I guess it’s that six degrees of separation theory.

THE SECRET LIFE OF COWS

As I have mentioned previously, my family and I live in a very rural area of New York State.
Many people who live in the New York City area and many who live in other states don’t realize there’s more to New York State than New York City. Surprise! The topography of New York State is very diverse.

Allegany County is mostly a farming community. There is a farm down the road from our house where they have cows. I’ve seen “the girls”, as I call them, every time I drive down the road for the past three years.

I’ve really felt sorry for them. Every time I see them, they’re either standing in one spot, staring at nothing, or laying down, staring at nothing.

I’ve done a little research because of all God’s creatures cows seem to have the most boring life of anything on earth. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I shouldn’t feel sorry for them. I’m finding out that cows have a secret life.

Eating, of course, is the highlight of their day, but I found out that on their own, cows will organize their days into blocks of time, about three hours per block.

It takes them a little while to get moving in the morning. I can relate to that. Once they finally are up and moving around, they eat for about two to three hours. A breakfast that long would absolutely kill my diet. Then, it’s time for a big, long drink of water.

By mid-morning, it seems they’re finally awake enough to ‘challenge’ passing vehicles to race. This is the time they also like to snoop around and see what adventures they can find, such as chasing a piece of newspaper or a plastic bag, blowing across the field.

It appears they’re very curious creatures and are compelled to investigate anything of interest within their immediate area; birds eating, squirrels scurrying, or a running herd of deer.
After such a busy morning, anyone would be ready for a nap and Bessie and Elsie are no exception. Nap time is about two to three hours. Doesn’t that sound wonderful?

During the years that I worked out of the house, I usually got a thirty minute lunch break. Many days, ten minutes were spent eating lunch in my car and twenty minutes were blocked out for a much needed nap. It wasn’t much, but it got me through the busy afternoons.
After completing their nap, it’s time for ‘the girls’ to eat again. Since they aren’t interested in watching their waistlines, it’s time for a snack.

Dusk seems to be another exciting time for them. They play, explore, snoop around and discover all sorts of things interesting to them.

Now that they’ve had a busy day, they’re pooped and ready for bed…well, sort of. They actually sleep for a few hours, wake up, eat a snack of hay or grass, socialize and then go back to sleep until dawn.

Betcha didn’t know cows have such an interesting life. Neither did I.

Research for this article:
Helga Tacreiter
http://psyeta.org

THOUGHTS ON RAMDOM THOUGHTS

Aaah, spring! I’m so excited that spring is finally here (on a day-by-day basis). I went out to do a little yard work Thursday. I love to work in the flower beds because it gives me the freedom to solve all the problems facing our country by the time I finish whatever task I’m working on.
Sometimes my thoughts seem to run away with all their little buddy thoughts. I don’t really mind though, as long as they find their way back into my head by the time I finish my task.
My Min Pins were playing in the yard, enjoying one of the first sunny, warmish spring days so far. They reminded me of two little pre-school children without a care in the world. It occurred to me though that, at their age, eight years (that’s 56 in dog years), it’s really time for them to knuckle down and learn some things. For instance…

*Rolling on dead things in the yard and then wanting to be held is not cute.
*The trash collector is not stealing our stuff.
*I will not leave my toys outside in the rain and then bring them back in soaking wet.
*I will not lick my master’s face after eating something disgusting.
*I will try to remember barking dogs and door bells on TV are not actually in my house. I will not bark at them.
*I will not play tug-o-war with Daddy’s underwear when he’s sitting on the toilet. (Don’t ask.)
*My head does not belong in the refrigerator.

It seems like a lot of learning for such little dogs, but c’mon, they’ve had eight years. They’re really good little dogs though, so I guess I’ll continue to let them learn at their own pace and get on with more important thoughts.

Look out President Faux pas. Here I come.

AFTER THE FALL (Down the Stairs)

I suffered a fall in my house last Tuesday. I've heard that expression before and always thought it to be a strange statement but, take my word for it, if you fall down nine out of thirteen non-carpeted steps and land upside down on a non-carpeted landing, you really do suffer.

I'm really not sure what happened. My daughter said our resident ghost pushed me. Nevertheless, in one instant I was gingerly stepping down the stairs and in the next instant, I was snowballing down the stairs, hitting every inch of each step with every part of my body. Hoooleee cow; does that ever hurt!

Fortunately, The Frontiersman was in the kitchen as I made my grand descend down the stairs and somehow, by the grace of God, he actually heard me tumbling down.

In his never ending quest to be my helpful, loving All American Hero, he rushed over to me (while I was still trying to figure out what the hell happened and what planet I finally landed on), scooped me up under my arms and dragged me backwards, bumping my butt on each of the remaining two steps.

Once I was finally on the carpeted floor, in one fell swoop, The Frontiersman hoisted me up to a standing position and I immediately responded by passing out, so he tells me. Not to be deterred, he hoisted me to my feet again and I heard him say (from someplace far away), "We've got to get you to the couch." I was dazed and had no strength, but I was trying to find enough strength in my Jell-O legs to walk as he half-dragged me over to the couch. He plopped me down on the couch and hurried to get a blanket for me.

As soon as he covered me up, I said, "I have to go to the bathroom." One of us got the blanket off me and he helped me into the bathroom. After depositing me on the 'throne', I asked him to go upstairs and get some clothes for me.

Again I passed out, this time falling off the toilet. I awoke in a heap on the bathroom floor. I began calling out to The Frontiersman. "Help...helloooo...help." In my fog, I realized he didn't hear my pitiful cries so, somehow I managed to put one hand on the edge of the bathtub and one hand on the wall and haul myself back up and onto the toilet again.

Just as The Frontiersman walked in with my clothes, I greeted him with a projectile upchuck. Talk about a look of surprise. At any rate, I somehow got cleaned up; I don't even remember it but, I was back on the couch and our son, The Computer Genius, was standing in front of me, looking bewildered.

"What happened", he asked, looking dazed himself. "I fell down the stairs", I replied. Jason's thoughtful, intelligent remark..."You better be more careful." I guess that's the best any college kid could do at eight-thirty in the morning.

The Frontiersman was on the phone with 911, The Computer Genius was putting his shoes on and they tell me I was getting dressed. I really don't remember.

In the blink of an eye the ambulance crew was walking through my front door. There were suddenly four people asking me questions and checking out all my cuts and bruises. In a short period of time I was strapped onto a backboard with a cervical collar secured on my neck and people were lifting me onto a gurney and wheeling me out to the waiting ambulance.

I can't say enough good things about the volunteer ambulance crews and especially the crew that showed up to help me out on Tuesday morning. They were absolutely wonderful. They were professional, kind and caring. Each one of them looked like an angel to me.

After arriving at the hospital, the paramedic gave my information to the nurses and told me they were leaving me in good hands. I had no doubt.

Once the nurses completed their evaluation of my pitiful, beat up body, a wonderful doctor came in and talked to me for a bit and then told me he was sending me for a CT scan of my head and neck. I was wondering if they would see the strange little elves that live in my head and make me say and do the crazy things I do.

Thank God for my hard German head. Although battered and bruised, my head and neck were fine. It has taken a few days for the dizziness and headache to dissipate but, other than that, I don't expect any lasting effects. I'm not sure if that's good or bad.

Dr. LaMotte came back after he got the results of the CT scan and unstrapped me from the backboard and began to roll me onto the gurney. I let out a howl that was probably heard all over the hospital.

"What's hurting, what's hurting", he asked. I told him it was my left ankle and mid back.. He decided to send me back to radiology for x-rays.

After that, my daughter and son came in to see me. My daughter was very worried because Jason had called her and told her to meet him and their dad at the ER because I had fallen down the stairs and was being taken there by ambulance. Once she had the opportunity to see I was still pretty much in one piece and in relatively good spirits, relief came over her face.

After we talked for a few minutes, Roxanne asked Jason to go find their dad. She needed to get back home and take care of her responsibilities there.

The doctor returned to let us know I have a broken toe and that my ankle was possibly also fractured. My back was just badly bruised.

The nurse came in and gave me a hypodermic of something in my IV for pain. She then removed the IV and brought in the cutest, lightest little cast for my ankle and then a pair of crutches. She showed me how to use them, had me sign a bunch of papers and told us I was free to go.

The Frontiersman went out and brought the car up to the door and Jason stayed with me while I hobbled, on crutches, down the hallway and out the door.

During the past few days, I've had the opportunity to reflect on my accident and realize how blessed I am that, although I'm pretty beat up and a little broken, it could have been so much worse. God is very good to me. I'm blessed to have a husband who acted so quickly to help me. I'm blessed to live in a community where neighbors care about each other and come quickly when their help is needed. I'm blessed that we have excellent hospitals in the area, staffed with professionals who really know what they're doing and I'm very blessed to have wonderful family and friends who love me and take good care of me.

Something like this makes you stop and appreciate the blessings you have been given.