REMEMBERING 9/11 PATRIOT DAY

Transco/Williams Tower in the Galleria with Greenway Plaza in the background.

We’re approaching the 21st anniversary of 9/11, that horrible day that no American will ever forget.

We suffered one terrible blow after another in quick succession. Massive airliners loaded with jet fuel and overwhelmed flyers deliberately crashed into gigantic buildings occupied by thousands more unsuspecting victims. Huge, seemingly indestructible buildings collapsed one by one until we all lost count. Giant explosions and hellish fires engulfed unsuspecting victims.

Brave first responders rushed headlong into danger to help others and were gone in an instant, transformed into colossal clouds of dust. More brave innocents deliberately sacrificed themselves to save their fellow Americans.

Thousands of loved ones suddenly found themselves widows, widowers, orphans and childless parents with little or no chance to say goodbye to precious loved ones. Even more thousands survived unspeakable events. It was unimaginable… an unbelievably traumatic day for so many.

One of the worst things I remember about that day and the days that followed was fear of the unknown… the uncertainty… what might be coming next. Dozens of rumors flew over the internet and TV. We didn’t know if or when the terror might visit the rest of us. Like many others, I recognized it could get much worse for me and mine very quickly.

I was home that week. I got up early and walked the Green Belt on a beautiful autumn morning, enjoying the cool, crisp air, planning to spend all day in my office working on client reports. When I headed home, my new neighbor across the street waved me over. I had not yet met her as I had been travelling full time. She rushed the introductions and told me that a jet airliner had crashed into the World Trade Center in New York and that many deaths were expected. The news was sobering. She had seen the video and was shaken. In my eagerness to see the video, I cut short conversation and hurried inside. I still feel badly about abandoning her like that.

I watched that godawful video of the first plane a couple of times and called my husband, Chocoholic. He was at work on one of the upper floors of the Transco Tower. I told him what little I knew and urged him to come home. I had flown over the Tower a number of times on approach to Houston Hobby. It was an easy target if terrorists had plans for Houston, 64 stories high, a lonely high-rise in the Galleria, one of the most visible buildings in Houston outside of the downtown business district. It even sported a searchlight beacon visible for forty miles after dark!

Chocoholic’s employer had no announced plans to let people go. I urged my husband to get out of that freaking building. I watched more video, anguished over more terroristic acts of mass murder and conflagration and surfed TV channels and the internet, collecting information on Houston businesses already sending employees home. When I had a list of heavy hitters, I called Chocoholic, urging him to relay the list to his immediate superior. It took another hour, but he finally called to say he was on his way home. Thank God!

Things finally quieted down at our house around twilight. They stayed pretty quiet the next day, but either that or the next evening, we had a scare. Around 9 p.m. we were watching TV, finally relaxing just a little from the stress. Suddenly, two jet fighters from the Texas Air National Guard at Ellington Field came screaming overhead. We were rattled as were the house and windows. I searched the internet for what might be going on but couldn’t find anything. Having read somewhere that it could take fighter jets as long as an hour to complete pre-flight checklists and inspections, I figured that even if it wasn’t authorized, a couple of hotshot pilots had decided they needed to practice speedy take-offs on their own. I couldn’t fault them for the noise and the adrenaline rush. It was comforting to know those brave young pilots were nearby to protect us.

Much later, I learned that on the morning of 9/11, 2 F-16’s were dispatched from Ellington to the Gulf of Mexico, some 50 miles offshore Louisiana, where they assumed escort duty for Air Force One and the President on their way to refuel at Barksdale Air Force Base outside Bossier City. I never found any explanation for the startling night-time emergency takeoff.

NOTE: Garrett M. Graff’s non-fiction book The Only Plane in the Sky, An Oral History of September 11, 2001, published in 2020, presents a vivid chronology of what happened to whom that day. It is well-researched including a great many heart-stopping interviews with 9/11 survivors. It’s not for the faint of heart nor for the tender-hearted or those suffering from depression. It is raw and brutal at times, but still a wonderful book. It is a very big book, in the 1,000 page range, and every page is fascinating.

SPECIAL MESSAGE

As a new member of the Authors Guild, I have been asked to publish the following statement:

I stand against Open Library’s unauthorized copying and distribution of unauthorized works. 

If Open Library’s practices are deemed legal, any library, or even any website that calls itself a library, could scan old print books and distribute the scans as “ebooks.” Internet Archive has already offered its Open Library scans to libraries, so they won’t even need to create scans themselves. Readers will also be deterred from buying licensed ebooks if they can find free copies with a simple Google search online.

There’s no question that Open Library’s unauthorized scanning harms authors. It creates a substitute for licensed library ebooks and consumer ebooks from which authors earn royalties.

Open Library’s practices are not fair use under established law – and they’re not fair to authors because they rob authors of much-needed income.

Open Library does not “lend” ebooks. It is scanning (copying) and distributing ebooks of print books and infringing on the rights of authors. 

ANESTHESIA… PHILLY STYLE

Even road warriors occasionally need medical help. One year I spent an entire autumn working in Philadelphia. I traveled to the city on Sunday afternoons and returned home on Thursday evenings. While I enjoyed the work, travel was a real grind.

A few years earlier, I had dragged a door over one of my big toenails (another story,) and ever since have had to keep it in close trim or suffer painful consequences. With so much long-distance travel and work, I neglected it, and by one Monday morning in Philly, I could no longer deny that I needed medical help. I asked my client to recommend a physician with whom I could make an appointment, but she insisted on sending a podiatry resident to see me.

He arrived in “my office” later that day, introduced himself and pulled a huge pair of toenail clippers out of his pocket. He asked me to extend my foot into his hand. I did so, but my toe was too tender, and I couldn’t stay still. He pocketed the clippers, stood up and said he’d be back in a bit. I expected him to return with a syringe full of local anesthetic… blessed pain relief.

Instead, he brought another podiatry resident, another really cute young man. The second fellow shook my hand, grinned mischievously and said, “Hi. I’m Anesthesia.” The two of them took care of my problem in short order. I was, and still am, extremely grateful and offered to pay them or contribute to the residents’ pizza fund, but they refused compensation and went back to work… two very charming young men, no doubt wildly successful in their practices these days.

MY COOLEST MOVE

Twelve years ago, Chocoholic and I took a river cruise in China. We traveled on the Yangtze River and to various destinations by Chinese air carrier, covering a lot of fascinating territory in the huge sprawling country. It was a wonderful trip. Our last stop was Beijing. The weather was clear but very cold. Chocoholic wore his warmest coat, an old one with sheepskin lining. At the end of the trip, we took a bus to the airport, a vast modern complex of many enticing vendors but seemingly few people. We waited in a short line to go through security. Chocoholic went before me. It’s always a big deal with him as he has to empty his pockets, untie his shoes and remove his belt. I took his coat, helping him to move a little faster.

There was a faint click against the floor. I glanced down and saw, to my horror, a 0.22 caliber bullet called a short. It had fallen out of his pocket. I immediately knew that we were in trouble if an official saw it, but no one was looking at it or at me. I calmly put my foot on top of it, checked again to confirm no one was looking, used the act of folding the big coat to obscure any overhead video camera and gently rolled the bullet under the x-ray machine, moving as little and as naturally as possible. After putting the coat on the conveyor belt, we cleared security in short order.

I didn’t tell Chocoholic about the bullet until we were back in the US. I had visions of his face looking much like Brad Pitt’s ruined face in the 2001 movie SPY GAME starring Robert Redford. Mr. Pitt’s character suffers a terrible beating in a Chinese prison. The movie has long been one of my favorites. Redford’s character is a clever American spy nearing retirement, underestimated by his younger arrogant superiors who are clueless about tradecraft. It was directed by Tony Scott and distributed by Beacon Pictures and Universal Pictures.

Why the bullet in the pocket? When Chocoholic walks at the lake, he carries a little derringer that he inherited from his father. He relies on it mostly as a noisemaker. I assume the bullet had been there for years, trapped in a crevice or fold of the lining. On the China trip, we cleared airport security at least five times before the bullet finally made its untimely appearance.

HUNTING PREDATORS IN TEXAS

I grew up in a small town in a state full of hunters, but no one in my family hunted. Chocoholic grew up in the big city hunting duck, geese. squirrel and birds with his father. Go figure. His family ate what they killed. Shortly after we married, Chocoholic went hunting with a friend and brought home a dead squirrel. I cooked it with the shotgun pellets still in it. We had to throw it away. Who knew?

With the exception of a single goose hunt near Katy, Texas with co-workers, he never went hunting again. Worked for me!

I have been present at only one hunt. When I was a junior in high school, my boyfriend took me to a fox hunt late one Friday night after a football game. I didn’t know what to expect, but I trusted the young man. He was a good guy.

He drove out of town onto a Farm to Market Road and turned off onto two winding white sand ruts leading into dense post oak woods. The only light came from headlights raking the trail and trees. After about a mile, we came to the campsite. There were at least a dozen men there. Most were young with perhaps three older men. I recognized a couple of recent high school graduates, one of whom was my boyfriend’s best friend. I think there was only one other female present, the wife of one of the men. It appeared to me that she was there to hunt, as she was getting her gear ready. Most of the men were warming themselves around a big campfire. Some had already begun drinking. One was obviously feeling no pain. My date turned down a proffered bottle of bourbon but promised to return after he took me home. They planned to make a night of it. Hard liquor and guns sounded like a dangerous combination to me, but I held my tongue.

Hunting dogs were excited and loud, eager to get going. I don’t remember horses being present. We left after a few minutes as I had curfew.

Years later Chocoholic, our Black Lab Jack and I spent a weekend at the lake cabin, located a few miles from the fox hunt campsite. We arrived midmorning on a bright sunshiny Saturday. While we were unloading, a neighbor drove over and warned us that a big cat had been on the property for a couple of days. He didn’t say so, but we assumed livestock had been killed. Jack and I gave up plans for a hike and stayed close to the cabin. He loved our walks in the woods but put up no resistance, and I assumed his nose had already made him aware of the predator. My mother, sister and her husband and other family joined us later that afternoon.

About an hour before sunset, a caravan of pickup trucks carrying horses and dogs rattled across the dam and gunned their engines up the deep sandy road behind our cabin and on into the deep post oak woods. All of the pickups carried at least one passenger, and all sported long guns secured in racks behind bench seats. Most of the men wore snap shirts and western cowboy straw hats or gimme caps. We watched the parade go by with big eyes, assuming they had come to kill the predator. It was oddly exciting.

We returned to the porch after dark to enjoy the night sounds on the lake. The hunting dogs occasionally bayed and barked excitedly in the distance. Once we heard a short scream, I assume from the big cat. As soon as the sun came up the next morning, the hunters returned the way they had come. We assumed they had killed the cat.

Perhaps eight years ago, I was walking up the road on an overcast morning and turned to look back at the lake. Maybe thirty yards behind me, I saw a strange cat calmly cross the road, a short trip of thirty yards from wooded section to wooded section. The cat was bigger than a house cat but not as big as a bobcat (which I have also seen on the property.) Its tail was long with maybe a bit of curl at the end. It was a dark mottled nondescript brownish grey and had small widely spaced somewhat rounded ears. The word “jaguarundi” popped into my head, and when I finished my walk, I googled it and concluded that the animal was indeed a jaguarundi, a rarity this far north.

Perhaps three years ago, I heard that one of my neighbors reported seeing a black panther from across the lake. Black panthers look a great deal like jaguarundis but weigh at least three times as much. Of course, I think she saw a jaguarundi, and if she knew about my sighting, she would probably think that I saw a panther. I’m not afraid of a jaguarundi, but I am afraid of a panther. I have learned to be more careful on my walks.

SNOWMAGEDDON

In February 2021, Texas shut down due to an unprecedented winter storm that proved to be way more than power companies could handle. The first round of Arctic air arrived on the 10th, plunging temps well below freezing where they stayed for eight days.

We dripped indoor taps and covered outdoor taps with foam faucet covers, opened cabinet doors to circulate warm air next to vulnerable pipes and filled the bathtub in case we needed water for flushing the toilet.

Whenever I looked out the window, it was sleeting, snowing steadily or snowing heavily. Alternate layers of snow and ice built up.

It was hard to comprehend. I’ve been through blizzards in Amarillo and Hastings, Nebraska and dug rental cars out of bumper high drifts in Virginia, Colorado and Oklahoma, but this was Central Texas. It was unprecedented. For eight days, it never stopped. It got worse and worse. The back porch thermometer registered 10 degrees, but the porch is enclosed by warm house on three sides. A neighbor from Connecticut measured ten inches of snow and ice.

Temperatures and snowfall broke records. Many Texans lost power and water for the entire week, living and dying in the dark. Some moved families to cars and ran engines and heaters, barely surviving. Some died from carbon monoxide poisoning. People and livestock froze to death.

By the 16th, we were losing power at our house for four to six hours at a time… rolling blackouts. Authorities warned of impending power failure. We unplugged appliances shutting off ready lights and drastically adjusted the thermostat; postponed laundry and idled the oven, dishwasher and TV. We cooked meals on the gas stovetop and ate them off paper plates and bowls. When the power came on, we charged electronic devices and got caught up with friends, family and utility bulletins.

Someone texted me a funny he saw on Facebook:
“2020 Hell
2021 Hell Froze Over.”

We dressed in woolens and fleece, caps and gloves. I tottered around looking like Ralphie’s little brother Randy in A Christmas Story (1983 MGM/Christmas Tree Films,) all but unable to move due to the bulk of clothing.

Traffic shut down. We stayed inside as it was way too dangerous to venture out – one gigantic multi-surface ice rink. If we’d had the skill and owned ice skates, we could have skated to Houston and back.

Mail and packages went undelivered.

I continued editing my book, doing my best to keep my laptop battery charged, but there were times when I had to shut down.

We prepared for the loss of all power, assembling sleeping bags and locating blankets, quilts and comforters; readied pop-up LED lanterns, candles, lighters, matches and instructions for making a shortening based candle that generated heat. We topped off water in the bathtub. When boil water notices were posted for nearby neighborhoods, I boiled and cooled tap water before running it through the Berkey Filter, afraid I wouldn’t get a utility notice for our neighborhood in time to stave off contamination.

After eight days, the sun came out and the temperature finally crept above freezing. An Amazon truck made a delivery, stopping in the slush in the middle of the road, the mailman right behind him. We were saved!

Officials report 210 storm deaths in Texas. Credible estimates peg that number 4 to 5 times higher.

We were very fortunate, but our power grid is still at risk. Stay tuned.

UPDATE 07/03/2022: My community has suffered the hottest May and June on record. So far, the power grid has held up. Thank Goodness. But the forecast for the next 9 days contains only highs of 100 degrees F. or above and includes 4 days at 102 degrees and 1 day at 103. And no rain forecast. We are in EXTREME DROUGHT and under an area-wide burn ban. Watering lawns is limited to one day a week. At this rate, we will lose our grass and shrubs… hopefully not the trees. The City Utilities Office informs us to conserve water so that there is enough to fight the inevitable grass and home fires.

We need a minimal hurricane, a fast mover, to drench us and move on without flooding homes and businesses. I’m aware that further west, things are even worse.

THE RISE OF THE KITTY CATS

While I have always been a dog person, there has almost always been a cat in my life. In spite of not currently “owning” a cat (if any human can ever rightfully claim to “own” a cat,) my life has been full of them over the last couple of years.

They have given me a thousand belly laughs during a time when any laugh was appreciated. They are some of the most amusing and charming creatures on earth, and to the many YouTubers who produce videos and still pictures featuring our beautiful furry friends, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Cats come in endless varieties, sizes, shapes, colors, patterns and pelts. They are supremely graceful. They slink, they stalk, they fly through the air and skate across slick floors. They insert themselves into impossibly small spaces, find a fit and promptly nod off. Almost everything they do is fascinating, even sleeping.

The videos have taught me a few things: All these years, I mistakenly “owned” a single cat at a time. Now I learn that’s not right. One should own at least two cats, not only for all they give to you, but for what they do for each other. It turns out that cats utterly adore other cats. Just as humans love to stroke a cat, enjoying the tranquility it brings, cats do the same for each other. They cuddle and snuggle. They sleep intertwined. They play together, stalk and race each other. They adopt strays: kittens, adult cats and even other species. They turn big strapping alpha human males into tenderhearted motherly creatures. Who knew?

Cats may have single-handedly saved childhood for an entire generation of young school children during the lockdown. YouTube is rife with credible stories of six and seven year-olds hijacking Zoom classrooms. Typically, at the end of a presentation, the teacher asks if anyone has a question. Invariably a sweet young voice pipes up, “Do you want to see my kitty cat?” And they’re off… the subject that is. All of them. Not only does the teacher have to show off his cat, but so do each of the students, providing every one of them with the best part of their school day, the part that they will remember when the school subject is long forgotten.

And if that isn’t enough to warm one’s heart, after way too many days of finding no survivors in the grotesque rubble of the collapsed condominium building in South Florida, a miracle suddenly appeared. Binx, one of the precious missing pets was found wandering near the rubble. Judging by TV video, he’s a big strong cat, but that doesn’t explain how he survived crashing to the earth from nine floors above, riding pancaking layers of concrete and steel down to the ground and escaping before another layer came down on top of him. But he did. And we are all so grateful. He warms many heavy hearts.

PHOTO CREDITS

I wanted to credit all the photos I’ve used, so here they are:

Girl with horse photo: Photo by Tai’s Captures  on Unsplash

Great horned owl: Photo by Zdeněk Macháček  on Unsplash

Beetle: From Wikimedia Commons, the free media repository

Vietnamese flag: This work is in the public domain in Vietnam for one of the following reasons:
• It is a cinematographic work, photographic work, work of applied art or anonymous work first published more than 75 years ago. (See Commons: Copyright_rules_by_territory/Vietnam)

Marine Corp flag: Public Domain Created: 18 January 1939

Trees Image: Michael Kopp from Pixabay

Pig Image: Yair Ventura Filho from Pixabay

Boat with Mexican flag: Photo by Francisco De Nova on Unsplash

Mexican flag: Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash

Big pig: Photo by Al Elmes on Unsplash

American flag: Photo by shota James on Unsplash

Great horned owl: Photo by Alexas_Fotos on Unsplash

US Capitol: Photo by Quick PS on Unsplash

Texas Capitol: Photo by Natilyn Hicks on Unsplash

Helicopter: This image is public domain. You may use this picture for any purpose, including commercial. If you do use it, please consider linking back to us. If you are going to redistribute this image online, a hyperlink to this particular page is mandatory:

HTML: CH-46 Sea Knight Helicopter

by Andrew Schmidt

Snowy House Photo: My web designer’s house in Austin, TX

Fern Hollow Bridge Collapse: National Transportation Safety Board, Public Domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Mountain Lion Photo: burntpoet.Coleridge/USA on Pixabay

St. Basil’s Cathedral in Moscow Photo: Nikita Karimov on Unsplash

Gate Guard at the Tianhou Palace in Tianjin Photo: ermell, CC BY-SA 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Raven Karate: Bird with right foot in the air: Bruce Jastrow@brucej6767 on Unsplash

Blackbirds: mountains-g98a29b6b9_640 on Pixabay

Noir photo of automobile and men talking in woods. Ulrich B. on Pixabay

Western Straw Hat: Ealdgyth 3.0 Strawhat via Wikimedia Commons

Transco/Williams Tower Houston. Reproduction Number: LC-DIG-highsm-16800 (digital file from original) LC-HS503-2300 (color film transparency.) No known restrictions on publication. The Library of Congress https://www.loc.gov/item/2011634993/

Frustrated Young Businesswoman: Photo by Elisa Ventur on Unsplash

Photo of Snake Charmers at Market in Marrakesh Morocco: Jorge Láscar from Australia, CC BY 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons

Roadrunner Photo by Joshua J. Cotten  on Unsplash

Bandaged Teddy Bear Photo by congerdesign on Pixabay

Lemon Meringue Pie by my sister Lynn, the best cook in the family

Female Swimmer Image by Daniel Perrig from Pixabay

Snowflake Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

Flip Phone Photo by Alexander Andrews on Unsplash

Girl Jumping into Stock Tank by Vitolda Klein  on Unsplash

Francis Scott Key Bridge Collapse. U. S. Coast Guard photo illustration by U.S. Coast Guard Petty Officer 1st Class Brandon Giles. From Wikimedia Commons.

Dried pinto beans by Monkgogi Sampson on Unsplash

Blueberries by Bartlomiej, Jacak. Photo by Bartłomiej, Jacak on Unsplash

Grave Marker Flag. Photo by  Debby Hudson on Unsplash

Gowned and Masked Surgeon Reaching to Patient. Photo by National Cancer Institute on Unsplash

Photo of 100 dollar bills by Giorgio Trovato  on Unsplash