Change Is Hard

…but change is certain.


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Crash dummy survives!

Crash dummies waiting to go to work.

Crash dummies waiting to go to work.


I’d never been a witness to a test crash before. I suppose not many people have. It’s kind of a surreal experience, especially for a person that’s had a loved one die in a violent crash.

My husband and I, along with several other of our truck safety volunteers attended an all day conference at the Insurance Institute for Highway Safety in Charlottesville Virginia on Thursday.

And it wasn’t just us in attendance.

In an unprecedented move truck companies, trailer manufacturers, safety advocates, bicycle and pedestrian representatives, policy makers, and researchers were all together in one room to talk about the problem of truck underride.

Most of you don’t know what truck underride is, and I wish I didn’t have to explain it to you. But because our country is a generation behind Europe you probably haven’t seen a truck sporting a side guard to keep a car from traveling under the trailer in a crash.

Perhaps, if you’ve been in New York City or Boston recently, you’ve seen city trucks with side guards; those two cities have now mandated this safety precaution after several bicyclists and pedestrians were killed by falling beneath the trailers and being crushed by the wheels.

Side and rear underride is a huge problem outside cities too. As you pass a semi out on the freeway, and if it’s safe, glance over and see where the underside of that trailer would hit you if you slid under. Just about the height of your head. And if you slide under your airbags won’t deploy as there would be no impact of the engine and front of your car. The first impact would be the windshield, and that won’t save you.

And don’t think you’re safe if you hit a semi from behind. Many of the rear guards were built to 1953 standards and will collapse if you hit them with any speed. Once again, the only thing between your head and the back of that trailer will be the windshield.

In the lobby of IIHS.  No airbags in the old days.

In the lobby of IIHS. No airbags in the old days.

So for years safety advocates, including the Truck Safety Coalition, have been asking the Department of Transportation to require better rear guards, and to start the process to mandate side guards. It’s another one of those no-brainer things that we just can’t seem to get done through normal channels.

Thursday’s conference wasn’t a normal channel. Never before has the industry met with the safety people to discuss making changes that would move ahead of any regulations that might some day come out of the D.O.T. Never before has such candid conversations been held, without animosity, without rancor, with only safety in mind.

It was amazing.

At noon we went into the lab and watched a test crash of a Malibu slamming at 35 mpr into the back of a semi trailer that had been equipped with a new, stronger rear guard. Some of us weren’t sure we wanted to witness such a thing, but we’re all glad we did.

The dummy survived this crash because the rear guard was strong.

The dummy survived this crash because the rear guard was strong.

Because in this case the new rear guard held up and the passenger compartment, crash dummy inside, was not penetrated. (You can watch the crash test here.) Everyone inside this particular car would have survived. For many people the test crash was the highlight of the day. But I thought the highlight was later in the program.

During the day we had speakers from New York City and Boston tell us about the processes they went through requiring side guards on trucks within their city limits. We had speakers from government talking about where in the regulatory process we are, speakers from trailer manufacturers talking about stronger rear guards that are ready for market now, from a truck company that has ordered 4,000 of the new, safer rear guards, and from Virginia Tech students who showed us their own new design for a stronger, safer rear guard.

Explaining one of their designs they didn't end up choosing to build.

Explaining one of their designs they didn’t end up choosing to build.

Those students almost made me cry. They were undergraduates, the project assigned to them was to build a better rear guard for a semi truck. They, like most people, had never heard of underride crashes before. They learned about the problem, dreamed up a number of potential solutions, weeded their options down to four, and then figured out which one was the most plausible, most acceptable to both the trucking industry and safety advocates.

And then they built a it.

Virginia Tech student and a Truck Safety Volunteer who has been fighting for side guards since her dad was killed 33 years ago.

Virginia Tech student and a Truck Safety Volunteer who has been fighting for side guards since her dad was killed 33 years ago.

Incredibly 18 and 19 year old young people spent a year on this project, realized the importance of their work, and were brave enough to come and speak about it to a group of adults working in the industry. They were excited about their design and proud to show it off. And a room full of jaded adults sat respectfully listening, leaning forward, following along, congratulation the students at the end for a good design, inviting them to join the industry after they graduate. To think that this whole room of people, including the kids, was there to make the roads safer for everyone. Well. That just about made me tear up.

It should make you tear up too.

Because change is happening. It’s happening because we’ve moved past regulations and asked the industry to listen and to do what’s right. And they are responding. Not everyone. And not every request. But some. And some change will lead to more change. And every step we make toward safety saves another life.

Change is hard. But it’s not impossible.

Retired test cars.

Retired test cars.


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Arlington musings

Gate to the Cemetery and the Robert E Lee house up on the hill.

Gate to the Cemetery and the Robert E Lee house up on the hill.


We meant to spend part of the day at Arlington Cemetery and the rest of the day at the Air and Space Museum. After all, it wasn’t our first trip out to Arlington, and we’ve been to the National Cemetery in Michigan a few times as well.

Turns out we underestimated our time wandering the cemetery grounds.

We spent nearly the entire day exploring, searching for particular grave sites, contemplating, watching. Listening. Listening to taps being played at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldiers, listening to a marching band playing military music off in the distance during the changing of the guard…

Changing the honor guard.

Changing the honor guard.

…listening to a mocking bird singing high over the endless rows of white marble markers.

Probably not a mockingbird, but he was pretty.

Probably not a mockingbird, but he was pretty.

And toward the end of our visit just when I was commenting about how peacefully quiet it was, how beautiful this particular tree was…

Pretty shade.

Pretty shade.

…a military flyover came roaring up from the Potomac, right overhead, shattering the peace, but raising the awesome level of our total experience.

We saw Senator Frank Lautenberg’s grave site. He was always so supportive of our safety efforts. We miss him – he was a good man. His stone should have proclaimed his work toward saving people’s lives on our roads.

It doesn’t, but we know.

You did good work Senator.

You did good work Senator.

But the stone that touched me the most was that of Medgar Evers. A simple white stone, like hundreds of thousands of others, set down over a hill below President Taft, it was evident that several people had come to visit and pay their respects.

Remembering Medgar Evers.

Remembering Medgar Evers.

He did good work too.

Wandering in Arlington was beautiful, but oh so sad. Because we had to acknowledge that every one of the thousands of headstones represented a person, someone’s child. They all belonged to someone.

Each one an individual.

Each one an individual.

And now they all belong to us.

Sobering.

On the back of the stone for Oliver Wendell Lewis, a Major General who served in World War II, Korea and Vietnam but was only 71 when he died, was this quote:

Good advice.

Good advice.

I like to think that those of us working for truck safety are doing just that – walking in the world for our loved ones. I think the General has it exactly right.

I wish everyone had the opportunity to visit this cemetery, to experience the solemnity, the sense of awe, the feeling of pride. I have to think the country would be in better shape if everyone spent a day exploring this special place.

There’s sadness here, but there’s peace and hope too.

Visit if you can.

Always vigilant.

Always vigilant.


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Grief strikes

Imoene painted Morgan, taken from her Facebook page.

Imoene painted Morgan. Photo taken from her Facebook page.


Oh Imogene.

That’s what’s running through my brain, has been ever since last night when I read the news. Oh Imogene.

I never met her, not in person. But she was my friend. Sure, there are many that knew her better, and she has family that love her even more. But people around the world considered her a friend.

I ‘met’ her many years ago when I ran across a whole bunch of people on the internet who wrote blogs from their dogs’ perspective, a group called Dogs With Blogs. Imogene wrote for her sheltie named Morgan. I loved both of them instantly.

Imogene was the kind of woman who put bright colored streaks in her hair long before it was mainstream fashionable. She took her dogs to canine Halloween parties. She described the protocol of reserving street parking with kitchen chairs during blizzards.

And last weekend she asked her Facebook friends whether she should order pizza or work on her taxes, after all her appointment with her tax guy was in two days. We all voted for pizza and later it turned out she ordered it and then stayed up all night sorting through receipts. She dropped her documents off at the tax guy’s office on Monday, but that doesn’t matter now.

She died yesterday.

Imogene died and legions of people are in shock. We aren’t ready to say goodbye to this spunky, sarcastic, witty, funny, truly lovable woman.

Oh Imogene.

Her sister says she didn’t like funerals. I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t like all the attention now. The stories. The pictures. Especially the sad comments. Our tears. I’m pretty sure she’s probably all ticked off, not at us, but at the fact she had to go too soon. I hope it’s fodder for her new blog in heaven; that first post of hers is bound to be a zinger.

So…till we meet again Imogene…and I’m sure we will…I was glad to be included in your huge circle of friends. I am so going to miss you. And if you are getting a tax refund this year I hope it gets put to good use at one of your many charitable organizations. I know you’d like that.

But oh Imogene…

Taken from Imogene's Facebook page.  With her girls.

Taken from Imogene’s Facebook page. With her girls.


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Two more dead

Wednesday near Charlotte NC a Swift semi ran off the road and hit a bridge. Watch this two minute news video that cites statistics about Swift, a large national carrier. These two deaths are numbers 56 and 57 for the truck company in the past two years. Other articles I’ve found say that Swift has been cited over 4000 times during the past two years for driving violations.

I don’t know how much more has to happen before the Federal Motor Carrier Safety Administration (FMCSA) stops rating them as acceptable.

As many of you know I work with the Truck Safety Coalition, and we’ve been fighting to lower the maximum number of hours a driver can drive before having to take an extended rest break. It’s an uphill battle, with small victories later repealed by legislation backed by the deep pockets of the American Trucking Association which is out to maximize truck company profits. A news report yesterday said fatigue of the driver was a likely cause of this particular crash. He fell asleep behind the wheel at 4:30 in the morning.

So. Two more people are dead. This time they weren’t in a passenger car, they were in the cab of the truck that crashed.

In stories like this the news focuses on the traffic delays or the cost of repairing the infrastructure. I can tell you from personal experience the families of the two deceased don’t care about traffic delays or bridge repair today. As they move forward and figure out what caused their loss they’ll learn what so many other families have learned. That driving up to 11 hours a day is unsafe. That it doesn’t make any sense. That people die because they are pushed to work longer hours than in any other industry. It’s a complicated issue.

Five hundred truck drivers die in crashes each year. Yesterday two gave their lives just trying to make a living.

Sometimes I think that fighting the ATA on hours of service rules is useless. That we’re just playing defense, sticking our fingers in an deteriorating dike. That our time is better spent on issues we have a chance of winning. And then two more people die and I realize we have to keep fighting on all the issues.

Even hours of service.


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Before and after

I think most people have a date in their past that bisects their own history. The date when everything shifted, the world tilted, life changed. A date that is used as a measuring unit against all events past and future.

For me it’s the year 2004, the year we lost both parents and moved into adulthood with stunning finality. Forever more when I hear a date related to anything, an event, a birthday, a bit of historical trivia I think…”that was before Mom died.” or “Dad had been gone a year by then.” 2004 feels something like a watershed, with all the life experiences prior cataloged as ‘before’ and everything that has happened since labeled ‘after.’

Yesterday my husband and I sat with a family member in waiting areas of two hospitals as her mother struggled to stay alive. We listened to her story, how her mother came to be this ill, what the prognosis was. While we waited we told family stories about relatives long gone, family members today, heard about her kids far away in another state. We laughed a bit, got teary a bit, hugged some. Worried a lot.

I wondered if the day would become her dividing point, the day she would remember as her world tilting, changing, forever different. Thankfully yesterday didn’t turn into that day. And this morning the sun is shining and there are new questions to ask, new decisions to be made.

I sat in waiting rooms yesterday and contemplated how life changes. How change is different for everyone. How I’ll never have to sit in a waiting room making life and death decisions for either of my parents. How I felt slightly guilty to be glad of that. But how I would have been grateful for time with either of them no matter how difficult saying goodbye would have been.

In the past month I’ve had three good friends lose a parent, witnessed three families defining before and after. I guess it’s natural.

But darn, change is hard.


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Cee’s Black and White Photo Challenge: People or animals

While I was walking back from the cherry blossoms in DC last Sunday I passed this woman. Head down, carrying her shopping bags she was moving fast, not looking at anyone.

Resident among the tourists.

Resident among the tourists.

She seemed lonely and isolated even in the midst of the large and noisy tourist crowd. I wished I could talk to her, but she wasn’t sending out friendly vibes. I’m guessing she wasn’t happy with all the tourists inserting themselves into her Sunday routine.

She was an interesting person, and perfect for Cee’s challenge this week.


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Funeral musings

Somebody’s dad died this week. Phil was 96, in poor health, and his death wasn’t unexpected. His wife of 65 years said he was ready, that he had seen angels in his hospital room. He was deeply faithful and his family is comforted by that.

It’s only in the past year that I’ve reconnected with his youngest son through Facebook, and it’s only through Facebook that I heard the news of his failing health. And then the death. Funeral arrangements were in my home town, and I made plans to attend. I couldn’t not attend.

He was the father of my best friend from junior high and high school, my college roommate, my peer in the business world after we graduated. My only contact with her parents for the past twenty-four years has been Christmas cards, each of us sending newsy letters about the previous year. And then last year I read that their youngest son’s wife had died unexpectedly and I wrote back asking for an address for him. And that lead to Facebook communication with him.

So I went to the funeral, introduced myself to the oldest daughter, hugged the wife and both sons. The person I most wanted to hug was my old best friend. But I couldn’t because she wasn’t there. You see, the last time I had seen any of these people was twenty-four years ago at Sallie’s funeral. She died from an aggressive leukemia when she was 36.

I can’t say that I still think of her every day. But I think about her a lot. And I was talking to her inside my head during the entire service for her dad. I was looking at her older sister and picturing Sallie as she might look at age sixty. Sixty! The age we both should be right now. But I can only remember her as she was at my wedding when we were both 34. Or how she was the last time I saw her a couple weeks before she died.

She would have liked to be turning sixty. Unlike me who is struggling a bit with that number, she would have embraced it, planned an adventure, charged right toward it. Her sister thanked me for coming to the funeral, ‘representing Sallie.’ I don’t think I was representing her so much as honoring her along with her dad. They were both fine human beings. I miss her. I know her siblings will be missing them both.

This family has been through a lot of loss, more than just this recent loss and the loss of their daughter and sister so long ago. But they are strong. Strong in their love for each other and strong in their belief that those in the family who have gone ahead are all together, and will greet each of them when their time comes.

At the cemetery an honor guard folded the flag that had draped the casket and gave it to Phil’s wife. I glanced up at the sky and saw the clouds forming a huge heart right above the tent. I’m pretty sure it was Sallie and her dad comforting us and letting us all know we are loved.

And then taps played and I began to cry all over again.

Imported Photos 00774


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Scanning memories

Technology. It frustrates me, confuses me, tests my patience, pushes my buttons. I’m not even on the learning curve but usually somewhere far behind it. So I’m feeling pretty progressive these days as I help a friend scan her family photos. And I try not to think about discussions we had in library grad school about technology changing and future generations (or even sooner) having to move collections of documents and data to whatever the latest viewing technology is available. That someday no one will be able to view CDs full of data unless they have an antique reading device. And that paper documents still available from centuries ago are still readable if they were preserved.

But that’s another blog.

This one is about the process of providing access to memories for everyone. The way to distribute family photos among surviving members electronically, quickly and efficiently. And that’s a misnomer in itself. Once a file is complete the transfer to other people will be quick. But putting that file together takes a long time.

I love the 'mid-century-ish" of this.  And it was mid century too

I love the ‘mid-century-ness” of this. And it was mid-century too.

I cleaned out a closet this week and found a box filled with random photos, some of them very old, of family. They are so fun to look at, and bring back so many memories that I want to share them with my brothers and sister. So I’m scanning them into a file. And I’ve found that scanning a friend’s family photos is much faster than scanning my own.

Working through a pile of photos spanning my own history takes time. Time to peruse each image, each face, to take in the background and figure out which house, which city, which trip, which year. To sort out which baby image belongs to which child.

Time slips away as I am immersed. And then the dog barks, or the snow slides noisily off the roof, and I am jolted back to reality. Mom and Dad are gone. My brothers and sister live far away. I miss them all but am still very thankful that I have the memories captured in these random photos.

And so I scan the next picture and smile at the baby smiling back and remember summer days and adventures from long ago. Someday this project will be complete and I’ll be giving them their memories for review. I hope they enjoy them as much as I did putting it all together.

I can’t see how they won’t. Who can resist pictures of cute kids?

Lean on me...

Lean on me…


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Water everywhere…and not a drop to drink

Many of you have heard about the water crisis in the city of Flint. It’s making national news.

Essentially the short version (and the short version doesn’t do justice to the actual reality) is that years ago an emergency manager was appointed to handle Flint’s financial woes and in an effort to save money the water supply was changed from the Detroit system and the Lake Huron to the Flint River. Turns out the water from the Flint River ran through old pipes and the combination was deadly. Now there is lead contaminated tap water in homes, businesses, and schools. The water had been consumed for over a year before people persistently making noise finally caught media, and thus government, attention.

Of course it is much more complicated than that. There are all sorts of politics involved. And charges that only minority dominated cities were put under emergency management in the first place. But the bottom line is that once again concern about money trumped concern about people’s safety.

Tuesday night our governor gave his State of the State speech and he spent most of it talking about Flint. He explained the timeline of events from his point of view, and though he took ultimate responsibility, he also wanted to assure everyone that his people had not told him about the magnitude of the problem until recently. And he’s going to prove that by releasing his emails.

Somehow none of that is making anyone feel better.

Early Wednesday I went for my walk up at the mall. Walking alone, I had plenty of time to notice the snippets of conversation between other walkers. Here’s just a bit of what I heard, each of these from a different pair of walkers.

“Governor Snyder said he didn’t ….”

“The corrosive water ran through the old pipes and leached lead into the water…”

“We don’t want to hear you say you’re sorry…”

“Well, it just really seems like…”

“I don’t know how it all can be fixed…”

“Finger pointing won’t help…”

“None of the Republican candidates are talking about water…”

“Who’s going to pay…”

I’ll let your imagination finish these conversations. Regardless of where your mind takes you it will be a dark place. There are no easy answers to this monumental problem. The governor has declared Flint a disaster area. The National Guard is passing out bottled water and filters. The mayor of Flint has had a meeting with President Obama in the oval office and the President has promised to help.

But ultimately the problem will take years to correct. And the underlying political issues? Those may never be sorted out. When General Motors abandoned Flint, taking with it thousands of jobs, many people left the city. The resultant lowered tax base couldn’t meet the needs. Inept politicians ran the city, ultimately causing financial ruin and emergency management. Should that have happened? Whose fault is it?

More importantly, what can be done to avoid in the future the series of events that led one community down the garden path to tainted water?

Change is hard.


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I think I have letters to write

Years ago my Dad said he could tell where he was in the life cycle by the tone of the family Christmas letters we received. Back in the early days people were starting out and talked about new babies, new jobs. Then suddenly kids were graduating and getting married and starting jobs themselves. Grandchildren began arriving. Eventually his friends started retiring, traveling, dealing with health issues. News of death was beginning to appear in holiday letters the last years of his life.

I think about that a lot as I see it reflected in the Christmas cards I receive each year. People I went to school with are grandparents now. And more and more hints that life doesn’t last forever are popping up in those yearly letters.

But it’s more than the annual holiday letter that provide clues about mortality. Social media, Facebook, Twitter and all the rest keep us up to date with people we might never have stayed connected with prior to the internet. We hear about life events almost instantly. We offer congratulations and condolences and support from a keyboard. And while I appreciate the connections I feel an old fashioned responsibility to send something more, especially when condolences are required.

So I have letters to write.

Today is the funeral of a blogger friend’s dad. Early next week a friend from high school will be burying her own dad. The two men died on the same day; I learned of their deaths while on the internet. At Christmas I learned that a coworker died last year. I hadn’t known he was sick and I want to write his widow who I never met. And last week I read online that the father of kids I used to babysit has died. His widow still lives in the house down the street from my old home. Though the children are grown, probably with kids of their own, I feel a need to let them know I’m thinking of them.

Somehow it doesn’t seem enough to just say ‘sorry for your loss’ in a Facebook post. Yet I’ve done it that way too. A friend from the dog training community lost both her parents in September last year, and all my communication was in the form of emails and Facebook posts and private messaging. Is that enough? Does that provide a more immediate support? Has the world moved on from handwritten letters that arrive with a stamp?

Or do I have letters to write?