Change Is Hard

…but change is certain.

Tag Archives: sad


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Weekly photo challenge : Abandoned

This week’s WordPress photo challenge is show ‘abandoned.’  Lots of things ran though my mind immediately.  There’s an old rusted truck  out by the main road and I thought I might do that.  And I will someday.   But as I thought more about the word abandoned I began to feel the city of Detroit pulling me.   Some of you probably know the city is in bankruptcy, the biggest city in the United States to head down that road.  There’s been a lot of abandoning that has happened in the city in the past many years, but hopefully the path is becoming clearer for the emergence of a new, brighter city.

There’s one building that stands, for me, to represent the abandonment of Detroit by so many.  I’ve always wanted to go downtown and photograph it, but it’s a little daunting.  Scary too.  So I haven’t.  This weekend I decided to drive down before our weather gets worse and just see what might be possible.  Turns out there were lots of people out and about right there, going to some event down the street.  So, though I wasn’t able to get really close as they have it all fenced off I was able to get a few shots of the abandoned Detroit Train Station.

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What a magnificent building this was in its day and what a shame that it has come to this.  You can see photos of the inside here and imagine what it once was.  It’s totally gutted now.  When you’re further away from the building you can see daylight all the way through it, from one empty window through to the empty window on the other side.  This year they hung giant lit snowflakes in some of the windows.  I hear it was pretty at night.

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Then I turned around and saw an old hotel, probably the place people landed when they arrived in Detroit and first stepped off the train.  It’s been abandoned too, though not by the graffiti artists.

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And next door to the hotel was an abandoned house, you can still see the good bones of it hidden under the boarded up windows.

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Around the side of the house was this,  which epitomizes abandonment to me…the abandonment of hope.

Someone had dreams here.

Someone had dreams here.

There’s so much more abandonment in this city;  I saw it everywhere as I scurried into downtown and back out to the illusion of safety in the suburbs.  It needs a braver person than me to document the pain there, and to document the return to life of what was once a great city.  I’d love to do it, but it’s just too darn scary.

You can find more photos by creative people that represent “abandoned” to them, up at the first link at the top of the post….or here and here and here are a few of my favorites.

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Feeling blue

Sun sinks on another day.

Sun sinks on another day.

It’s only mid-winter…and it’s been a long cruel season already.  First there was the massive layoff at work causing the loss of several really good people from my life.  Then there was the permanent loss of a friend.  And just tonight I learned that Casper de Ghost crossed the rainbow bridge.  And yes I know the loss of a dog I’ve never met is not the same as the loss of a human friend in real life.

But still.  I’m feeling blue.

Tracks across my heart

Tracks across my heart

And I’m looking at the tracks across the back yard with my dog Katie and wishing there were flowers blooming and sun shining and that time could stand still during the good stuff and that we didn’t all have to go through loss after loss after loss and just generally feeling blue.

And somewhere on the television a doorbell dings and Katie flies off the chair we share charging the front door in order to announce danger, in order to protect her house, and, I know, me.

And I have to smile and acknowledge that not everything is lost and even much of what seems lost is not really gone, just somewhere different.

And I go and collect my crazy dog and we sit down to watch some silly sit-coms so that we both can laugh for a little bit and forget about the danger just outside the front door.

And it is good.

Always watching

Always watching


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You’d be 85

Today is Dad’s 85th birthday.  It seems something of a milestone, one that shouldn’t be forgotten, though I can’t imagine him at 85.  I suppose he would have been similar to the Dad I knew at 75, maybe with a few more wrinkles, but the same twinkling eyes, the same stories, the same advice.

Dad and his little sister

Dad and his little sister

I can’t send him a card through snail mail, can’t email him or give him a call.  I can’t even text him, but then  he wouldn’t know what that was anyway.  On the other hand…if he were still here I bet he’d have the latest smart phone because the whole information at your fingertips phenomenon would have fascinate him.  Though I wonder if he would have sprung for the expense of having internet available 24/7.  No, I think maybe instead he’d have been content to be in his boat, watching the sun set, floating in the warm water of his lake.  Sure he’d check his messages when he got back to the house, but I don’t think that smart phone would have been used much on the boat.

In his canoe.

In his canoe.

The little boy who loved the water, grew up on the river, and took my Mom for a canoe ride on their first date, grew up to be a father of four kids who got to grow up on a lake and spent many summers canoeing there and on rivers.  We got to camp in National Parks across the country and see things lots of kids never did.  We got to sit around the dinner table laughing until our stomachs hurt and tears ran down our faces.  We got to ride bikes to town and climb trees in the woods and go water skiing after work.  We got to have a dog named Sam and guinea pigs named Barney and ride the lawnmower and plant a huge garden.  We got to go to college and grow up and live in nice places.

Most of that is due to having a Dad who was responsible and supportive.  And who loved us unconditionally.

So thank you Dad.  And Happy Birthday.

I hope you get this birthday card and know we all love you and miss you.

Forever.

Dad 044


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How you doing Girlfriend?

She wasn’t my BFF.  We weren’t childhood friends, I didn’t go to school with her, never ran a race, took a class, or joined a book club with her.  I didn’t know all the personal details of her life, never went out for a drink or hung out on weekends with her.  But she was a friend.  We saw each other in the halls at work, ran into each other in the ladies room.  We stood and talked, long conversations about life, family, choices.  We picked each other up when we were having a bad day.  At the very least we smiled and waved as we scurried about our work.  She cared when my parents died.  I cared when her marriage was over.  She’d greet me with “How you doing Girlfriend?” and a smile.  Sometimes I’d tell her how I was doing, sometimes not.  But I was always glad she asked.

I wasn’t unique in my relationship with her.  She was everyone’s Mom at work.  She was where people went for an aspirin or advice.  Where people went when they needed a break from the work grind, to talk about her grand-kids and admire their photos on her cubicle wall.  To laugh.  To commiserate.  To recharge. She wore socks decorated with jingle bells during the holidays every year and we all smiled when we heard her walk by; she was the epitome of Christmas spirit, our own Christmas elf.

And when she didn’t feel well this winter we all cared.  When she was gone from work awhile we all asked about her.  “Not good” I was told when I asked her boss early in January.  He was going to see her that weekend so I said I’d write her a note for him to deliver.  The next day, giving him the note I heard more; it was more serious than I realized and I knew my note was inappropriate.  I rewrote it that night, changed it from a cheery couple of lines to a two page letter telling her how much I enjoyed our conversations, how grateful I was that we were friends, how I would miss hearing those jingle bell socks as she went by during the holidays.  I gave her my home phone number and my personal email in case she needed another long conversation.

I never heard from her.  She died Thursday night – we heard the news at work Friday morning.  Devastated does not begin to describe my sorrow.  Our collective sorrow.

She was a little person, probably not five foot tall, with a heart as big as the sky.  I can hear her voice in my head, I see her walking the halls at work.  I strain to hear those bells.   I tried to remember the last time I saw her, talked to her.  She used to send me emails about jumbo loans that had to be underwritten in my area but had been sent in error to her department.  When it was busy I was never happy to see her emails and we used to kid about her sending me the work.  My last email from her was Christmas Eve.

Her:  “Happy Holidays.   I have just moved 3 files to your new deal
queue…    Thanks”

Me:  “Thanks.  no more gifts now….we don’t deserve them!  🙂 ”

Her:  “Oh, but my friend, you DO deserve gifts!! ….the best that ever were 🙂
OK–no more gifts today–just a wish for a blessed, happy Christmas & New
Year.”

Friday as I sat stunned in my cubicle I idly typed her name into  email.  I know it’s silly but I just wanted to say goodbye.  I sat and stared at her name.  Remembering.  Trying not to cry.  Listening to her voice in my head.  Then I typed one line…”I’m going to miss you girlfriend.”  I paused, then hit the send button.  I got an auto reply:   “I am out of the office until 3/3/14.”

Somewhere a short little lady is visiting with friends and family that have gone before.  Her socks are jingling, her smile is wide, her face glows.   Those of us left here are hurting, but were we ever lucky to have had her while we did.

So…you go girl, enjoy your next adventure.  I wish it could have been the retirement we talked about, dreamed of.  I wish you had had more time here.  And I’m hoping this is the biggest, best adventure of all.

But I’m sure going to miss you girlfriend.  Yes I am.


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Nothing much going on

A bowl of birds

A bowl of birds

I got nothing.  Haven’t done anything interesting.  Haven’t done anything important.  Haven’t done anything.

Ask Katie.  She is bored too.

I guess I’m not so much bored as totally exhausted, sad, and seemingly unable to use time effectively.  All I really want to do is nap which is impossible when you’ve got a sheltie in the house.  So I wander.  Do a little laundry.  Do a little cooking.  Watch the birds at the feeders.

Sit down.

Check Facebook, read a few blogs and think about a blog topic.  Sort a little music.

Sit down.

Consider that I should practice before rehearsal tomorrow night.  Sigh.

Sit down.

Make some cookies to put in the freezer for a time in the future when I don’t feel like making cookies.  Read some more blogs.  Remember there is wet laundry in the washer, move it to the dryer.

Sit down.

You see a pattern here?  Three days and nothing much happened.  Tomorrow it’s back to work.

Here’s hoping you had a much more exciting weekend!

Hungry

Hungry


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Reflections on truck safety

Fall reflections

Fall reflections

I’ve been thinking about an injured family a lot lately.  And as our government grinds to a halt and people express their frustration with the gridlock which is Washington I recognize their frustrations in my own ongoing feelings about the slowness of change toward truck safety.  I know, I know…you don’t see the connection.  Let me try to illuminate.

As many of you know last May my family and I met in DC with other families who have been irreparably injured by large trucks.  Families who have had members lost, injured, families whose lives are altered forever.   The first day of our conference, Saturday, May 4, we told our stories, cried, welcomed with heavy hearts the new families, and talked strategy to make change.

That same day a mother and her three children were traveling on a road in Georgia.  Their car was hit by a truck, spun, and was pushed under the rear of a semi.   Her daughters, AnnaLeah, 17 and Mary, 13 were killed.    While we were sitting in a DOT boardroom hearing department after department tell us that they were studying a problem, contemplating a rule, considering change this mother was planning her daughters’ funerals.  While we were arguing that stronger wider rear guards should be mandated on commercial vehicles two more beautiful children died.  Beautiful people are dying every day.  And our government continues to study.  To discuss.  To consider.

Thoughts ripple

Thoughts ripple

So as I watch the government fight among itself I think the shutdown is a bigger reflection on our own fights for truck safety.  If you were to ask most Americans they would side with safety.  But the opinions of most Americans are not heard because we don’t have the dollars or the influence that the trucking industry has.  Even in the article I linked to this post  the truckers  are quoted saying the problem is with those of us in cars.  We need to pay better attention they say.  We need to drive more responsibly they say.  That’s all true.  But this mother was hit by someone else, and was spun into the semi.  A stronger wider rear guard could have saved her children.  Why can’t we do this thing that would save lives.  Why can’t we get even small changes mandated for the safety of us all.

Expanding

Expanding changes

I get discouraged.  And all the news coverage over the current government shutdown just brings home the sense of hopelessness about getting anything positive done in Washington.  I get so discouraged.

But then last week as I was sorting through photos from our trip to DC I suddenly  came across a photo of the framed collage full of faces of our lost family members that hangs in a DOT elevator lobby.  There was Dad.  Like a slap across the face I remembered why I can’t be discouraged.  Because these people, and all the people that have been killed or injured since, have no voice but ours.  AnnaLeah and Mary have no voice but their mother’s…and now ours.  Their family is now part of our family.  They are our children.

We just can’t afford to let the incompetence in DC discourage us.  We can not give up.  No matter what.  You never know when you throw a pebble into a pond just how far the ripples will go.  Change is like that too.  Sometime, somewhere, somehow we will get safety mandated.   We just have to keep throwing those pebbles into the pond.

Marianne Karth, AnnaLeah and Mary’s mother, has a facebook page celebrating her daughters’ lives.  Put  faces on the numbers I so often quote…go visit her page.  Please support her now at the beginning of her new reality.

I’ll keep tossing those pebbles.

Tree of life

Tree of life


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When is $750,000 not enough?

I was driving home the other night when bits of the news caught my attention.  Someone was putting a bill together to raise the fine retailers pay if they are caught selling cigarettes to minors.   I didn’t catch the beginning of the story, but apparently the fine has been $50 for a number of years.  Based on cost of living increases some legislator figures the fee should be at least $98 and has put together a bill to get it raised to $100.

Now I’m all for fining organizations that sell smokes to minors and I’m glad that someone noticed and is doing something to make it less attractive to do so.  But I can’t help but compare that problem to the minimum insurance levels mandated for injury and death caused by commercial trucks and the total lack of attention this issue has received.

In 1980 as Congress deregulated the trucking industry they set a minimum level of insurance mandated by a trucking company at $750,000.  In the past thirty years that minimum has never been increased.  And to make matters worse, the $750,000 is paid out per incident, no matter how many people are injured or killed.  Many companies, mostly larger commercial carriers, do carry more than the minimum, but smaller companies and many independents carry only as much as they have to.

So lets say the trucking company that hits your car carries a million dollars of insurance.  Sounds like a lot doesn’t it.  Lets says someone in your car has a traumatic brain injury, spends a month or more in intensive care, and many more months in rehab.  How far do you think that million will go?  Or maybe the truck that hits your car also careens into 2 or three more cars.  Maybe multiple people are injured or killed.  That million dollars has to be split up among everyone.  Do you think any one of those affected is worth less because they are one of many involved?  I didn’t think so.

We have members of our truck safety family who have turned over their share of the insurance, money won to compensate them for the death of their son, to the one survivor of the crash, someone in another family, a stranger, because she needs the money for care and will need that care the rest of her life.   That’s the kind of families that are touched by these crashes.  Really great, compassionate people.

So all of this has been swirling around in my head the last few days.  There’s a bill to raise the fine for selling cigarettes, but we can’t get a bill introduced to increase the mandated minimum amount of insurance for commercial carriers.   It makes no sense to me.

And it makes even less sense when I learn of a terrible crash that happened in Indiana a couple of weeks ago.  Seven members of the same family were killed; two young mothers, their four children and an uncle.  Hit from behind by a careless, probably speeding, driver who already had speeding infractions on his  license.  Someone that shouldn’t have been driving at all.  A company that only has to pay, by law, $ 750,000 to the family if they are found at fault.  A family that will never, ever be whole.  A company that likely considers the payout a cost of doing business.  The only thing that makes a commercial truck company take notice is a large monetary loss.  These days $750K is chump change.

Unfortunately the chumps are us.