Monday, June 7, 2010


I'm upset about the ongoing oil spill. I'm uncomfortable making jokes about it. I want it to be stopped and then efforts concentrated on the clean up.

I remember when the Katrina disaster was unfolding, we happened to be driving from Kansas to Texas and encountered some of the displaced at gas station. They were obviously in shock and wanted nothing more than to be heard -- oh, and something to eat. Maybe a dry place to sleep. At the time, my mother was on one of her infamous tirades. Not because of the loss of human life or destruction caused by the natural disaster. Not because the slow response of the government and relief organizations, but because one sentence in Dear Abby article she happened to be reading, taken out of context, could be used if twisted jussssst right to support her side of some long forgotten argument. I'm sure it was all my fault.

I remember we left the gas station in a rush, she was in a huff and we didn't help the people one bit. The man wore overalls and was missing a tooth. He was also missing his home and all his worldly possessions. I didn't know it at the time. The pictures and the news hadn't reached the local news. No one knew what a terrible mess it all was. No one knew yet.