This Land is Your Land

You've probably noticed that Dr. Lobo and I love to travel. Our recent trip lasted 22 days and covered more than five thousand miles. We visited eleven different states before returning to Oklahoma: Kansas, Nebraska, Wyoming, Utah, Idaho, Oregon, California, Nevada, Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas. Most of that time, however, we were in beautiful Oregon, where Wild Child and The Blonde live. We wish they lived closer to us, but we're grateful for the excuse to head west.

Our route on this trip offered incredible diversity. We spent time in the high desert, mountains, forests, and prairies (although not in that order). We drove through vast open spaces, tiny villages, and cities. We sat beside rivers, lakes, and the gorgeous Pacific Ocean. We marveled at the variety of colors, landscapes, vegetation, and animals. We saw unusual sights and met interesting people.

Although spending time behind the windshield can become tiresome, it is one of my favorite things to do. Sometimes we listen to audio books as we travel. Sometimes we talk. Sometimes we play music. (And sometimes, when we're in an unfamiliar city and don't know where we're going, we snap at each other. But that's a topic for another time.)

Often one of us drives while the other catnaps. I absolutely love those times when Dr. Lobo sleeps and I drive. Surrounded by beautiful scenery, I listen to music and let my mind wander. I solve problems involved with plot and characterization. I pray, think about difficult situations and consider possibilities. I relive memories and give thanks for my many blessings.

I’m grateful that my family introduced me to the pleasures of traveling when I was a child. My parents often wondered if it were worth the trouble, since I spent most of the time reading comic books instead of looking out the window, but eventually their efforts paid off.

I realize that we're fortunate to have the time and resources to explore our beautiful country. I wish everyone had these opportunities.

Road trips aren't as efficient as flying, but much more enjoyable. We don't hassle with delayed flights and security checks. We don't rub elbows with strangers on the plane. We can set our own schedule, stop to check out whatever catches our attention, and feel the road as the wheels on the car go round and round.

Dr. Lobo is already studying the atlas and making plans for our next trip.




(Dr. Lobo gets credit for the photos. I was too lazy to put them into geographical order. If you're curious about the location of any of them, ask.)

Remembering the Oklahoma City Bombing

Fifteen years have passed, but memories of April 19, 1995 remain vivid in my mind. Thoughts swirl through my head, making it difficult to verbalize.

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On that day I was substitute teaching at an Oklahoma City middle school three miles from the bomb site. Teachers were in their classrooms, preparing for the day. The blast literally shook the building; it felt like being in an earthquake, but the noise told me it was something else.

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I didn’t get much information about what had happened until after school. My route home took me near the site. I listened as radio newscasters described the horrors. Sirens filled the air. I remember thinking “Why would anyone do this to my city?”

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Later that afternoon, I learned that my husband had been at the site within minutes of the bombing. He happened to be looking out the window from his office at the state capital complex when the bomb exploded. As a Viet Nam veteran, he knew instantly that it was a bomb, and as a geographer with a strong sense of place, he knew it was near the Journal Record building, where his agency had employees. He and a coworker rushed to the Journal Record building (next to the Murrah building) to check on them. I remember that his shoes were soaked with blood and cut to shreds by all the glass he walked over.

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Around six o’clock I got a call from the nursing home where my mother had been recovering from a broken hip. She had refractured her hip and staff members were sending her to the hospital by ambulance. I spent hours that evening in the hospital emergency room, trying to comfort my mother, who suffered from dementia. Medical personnel were far too busy dealing with bombing victims to do much for her, of course, so my recollections of that day are tied to my personal nightmare of dealing with a frightened and hurting elderly mother.

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I knew only one of the 168 people who died, but in the days that followed, Oklahoma City seemed like a small town as it became clear how we are all connected. I discovered that I was only one person away from most of the victims. Everyone I knew lost someone that day.

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I’ve often thought about the coincidences that made a difference as to who died and who escaped on that day. My husband had been scheduled for a meeting in the Journal Record building that day, but the participants managed to finish their business the night before, so the meeting was canceled. A friend was late to work, and arrived after the bomb had exploded. My daughter-in-law’s father worked in the Murrah building but had been elsewhere that day.

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Then there are the uncounted victims, the people who survived but whose lives were shattered. My friend’s husband, a police officer who carried dead babies out of the building, was so traumatized that he never recovered. Unable to be around his family, he filed for divorce within a year. Stories of people who turned to drugs or alcohol abound. Some chose suicide to escape the pain.

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The day after the bombing, I took a dozen newspapers to school. All day long, my classroom was silent as middle school children devoured them. I remember that Oklahoma City Public Schools received thousands of letters, cards, and drawings from school children across the country; students and teachers spent hours responding to them. I remember pages and pages of obituaries in The Daily Oklahoman. I remember that it rained for days, and that motorists drove through the streets with their lights on, to honor the victims. I remember feeling so proud of my state and the way its citizens pulled together.

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Today, fifteen years later, I am surprised at how hard it has been to write this. I did not suffer nearly as much as many people in Oklahoma City, but the painful memories of that day remain.

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I’ve been saddened and even frightened lately by the widespread lack of civility among Americans who disagree. Even on facebook, sometimes people I know and love post such strong words of anger and hatred that it startles me. Many in our society seem to believe that character assassination and threats are acceptable. They appear to think that disagreement with government officials and policies justifies drastic action.

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In an interview today, Bill Clinton talked about taking “responsibility for the possible consequences of what we say.” “The words we use really do matter,” he said, pointing out that the “unhinged” can be affected by them.

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Fifteen years ago an unhinged man thought his anti-government beliefs justified killing innocent people. Because of Timothy McVeigh’s actions, the people of my city are forever changed. I hope to God that no other city has to experience domestic violence anything like April 19, 1995 in Oklahoma City.

We Have a Winner!

Well, of course we have a winner. It's been over two weeks since I announced this little contest. But I'm still traveling, and I've had a lot of distractions, so I'm just now getting back to this.
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Where were we? Here:

Strang, Nebraska. The Punk, also known as Little Guy, was the first to answer the question correctly, so I'll have to come up with some sort of prize for him. (Wouldn't you think I'd given him enough stuff already? If I could recover all the money I spent on Legos for him throughout the years, I could travel a lot farther than Nebraska.)
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But since (a) family members should be disqualified from contests on my blog and (b) Little Guy posted his answer at 4:53 a.m., when the rest of my readers are asleep, and that doesn't seem quite fair, I'm also declaring Joan a winner. Congratulations, Joan. After I get home, I'll find a prize for you. I'll be in touch.

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We've been to Oregon, visiting Wild Child and The Blonde. It's been a good trip. Oregon is beautiful, and I can see why they love it there. (But oh, how I miss having them nearby!)

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We're heading back to Oklahoma, traveling by the 11 to 3 plan. It works like this: We have to check out of our motel by 11:00, but at 3:00 we can check into another motel. So we drive from 11:00 to 3:00 every day. Of course it does take a while to get across the country when you only travel four hours a day, but why hurry? We're retired!

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So for now, we're wandering around this part of the world. Life is good!