And Her Name Was Katrina

I think about Hurricane Katrina this time every year. Sometimes even more often when we travel to New Orleans. With all the talk of this year being the 5th anniversary, I thought I would share our story.

2005 was the first year that my mother-in-law came to puppysit during our annual New York vacation to the US Open. The previous two years, after moving to Natchez, we had taken our then much smaller family to a "bed and biscuit" right in the heart of New Orleans on Magazine Street. But in 2005 our family included a 16 year old Pomeranian, a 9 year old Lab and three puppies under a year and half old. The population explosion had begun. I called our usual place only to discover the owner had closed up and moved elsewhere. I didn't really like the place she'd gone to and even though she offered to keep our Pom at her home we just decided to keep everyone at home and see if Billy's mom would come.

The Hand of Providence guided that decision for sure.

Since it was Margaret's first time and there was much to learn, she was already at our house on Friday night when I returned from a seminar in Jackson. We typically drove the two and half hours to New Orleans on Saturday for an early flight out on Sunday mornings. Her Friday arrival also turned out to be a good thing. Billy and I were still new to living in "hurricane country" so we hadn't been watching television much and when my friends came over Saturday morning to meet Margaret (Brenda and Mike were going to help her with anything if she needed them) they couldn't believe that we weren't packed up and heading out the door. Didn't we know a hurricane was coming?

Mmmm. Hadn't really thought about that.

We finished going through everything and left just after lunch. We thought we had planned it all just right. While there are two routes from Natchez to New Orleans, we went through Baton Rouge that time. The interstate between the two cities is fairly straight and flat and I'll never forget the sight of approaching the causeway and starting to see three full lanes of traffic coming towards us.

We were almost alone on our side.

We got into town and checked into our hotel and turned on the television. The mayor, whom I truly liked at this point, was on and telling the citizens to get out. To leave however they could but not try and ride this one out. As a part of this plan to help everyone get out of the city he informed the city that the interstate out would be in contraflow - meaning no one else would be getting into the city. All roads would be leading out.

Had we been even 30 minutes later in our schedule we would never had made it.

Still fairly clueless to the severity of the whole thing, we went looking for dinner. Person has to eat, right? We drove up and down the main roads out by the airport only to see "closed" signs and boarded up establishments.

We finally found a Chinese buffet that was going to be closing within the hour but we were welcome to grab a table in the meantime. It wasn't exactly what we had planned, but it was good.

While watching the news that night I did, finally, come to the realization that this might be bad and maybe we had better get to the airport a little early. Just in case it was raining and there were delays.

For those that don't know me, I HATE to get the airport any earlier than is absolutely necessary. Prior to September 11, 2001 I was one of those people that pulled up the airport, checked in and walked onto the plane without ever stopping. I traveled a lot with my job and I hated wasting time at the airport. Especially those 6:30 AM flights to Dallas on Monday mornings. No need to get there any earlier than 6 or 6:10. Even now, I can time it to get there about an hour before a flight, but not much.

But that Sunday morning we arrived very early. Still pitch dark outside. I don't remember what time the flight was scheduled for, but we were there in plenty of time.

Or so I thought.

Every parking space was full. We circled the short term lot, the full term lot, and the employee parking lot. We found one space in the employee section. The last one. I didn't care at this point. We had a plane to catch and I was starting to clue in that maybe the situation was worse than I gave it credit.

Once parked and inside the terminal I was stunned. I had never seen that many people in my entire life. Security lines stretched the length of the terminal - in both directions. People were huddled in front of the boards looking at departure times - trying to find a way out, to anywhere. Children clutching stuffed animals and blankets, barely awake, holding onto their parents' legs.

A little anxiety is starting to creep into my world. Didn't these people know I had a vacation to get to? That I had planned and booked my flights months ago and I wasn't pleased that they were clogging the lines.

To the airline personnel's credit, they were all calm. They kept the lines moving as best they could. They pulled people out of the security line that had flights readying to board but they were also reassuring everyone that they would get out. Planes were delayed but that was so that they could be full and so that everyone would get out of New Orleans. Planes would be leaving as long as they could.

Mmmmmmm. Maybe this whole hurricane thing was something to which I should have been paying attention.

We boarded, and left. A little late but we were airborne and vacation had begun.

I didn't think about anything else the rest of the day. We just enjoyed ourselves.

Monday morning. My cell phone rings. It's work. I got a little concerned, but it isn't unusual for me to get work calls even on vacation. Usually about nothing that is overly important. But my coworkers were keeping an eye on my mother-in-law and I was afraid that maybe something had happened at home.

Never really, honestly, thought about a hurricane traveling a couple hundred miles inland so that wasn't on my mind.

It wasn't a problem at work or home. One of my co-worker's husband works offshore and the storm had turned suddenly and the rig was in the direct path. They hadn't been able to move it. There was no communication with the rig so no one knew if they were OK or not. I'm starting to get the bigger picture here. I reminded my boss that my mother-in-law was at our house with no means of knowing what all was going on with the storm in our area so if there was anything she needed to know would someone there please make sure she knew it. He assured me they would take care of her.

A few hours later another phone call. From home this time. The power is out. Had been out for a few hours.

Katrina had hit, and hit with a viciousness.

I started trying to call friends. All circuits were busy. Cell phones and land lines were out. I could, finally, get a few text messages through. It was bad. The whole city was dark. Trees were down all over. Roads in and out were impassable. Hotels and shelters were full. Store shelves were empty. Gas stations were drained. Neither had any hope of being refilled. I had a hard time convincing my sister-in-law that her mom was safe, being watched over, and would be fine. That she would be doing more harm than good by trying to get down there. Mostly likely she wouldn't make it and, if she did, they might not be able to get back out. Brenda and Mike had offered their RV for Margaret and our Christy if needed. It was air conditioned and they were welcomed to it if necessary.

Tuesday, we got the call that our power had been restored, mostly. Margaret said that it came on roughly 24 hours after it had gone out. It had blinked a few times after that, but it was mostly on. I felt better.

Until I watched the news that night. The pictures coming out of New Orleans and the Mississippi Gulf Coast were devastating. There is no other word that really covers it. Horrific, yes. Inhumane, yes. Many adjectives come to mind, but devastating is pretty all-encompassing.

The next phone call was from JetBlue. Our flight home was canceled. New Orleans International Airport was closed - indefinitely. OK. What did they suggest as an alternative? Silence on the other end. The customer service rep started typing into her computer. Here we go, she said. We can get you to Orlando.

Orlando.

With as much politeness as I could muster I pointed out that, geographically, Orlando was on the wrong side. All my information indicated that the lower Gulf Coast was closed and the interstate was gone. There was no way we could get from Orlando to Natchez. What did they have west of the Mississippi? More silence. JetBlue, at least at that time, didn't service any airports west of the Mississippi. (Even now there are only 15 stops, and most of them in California. But there are, now, two in Texas. There weren't then.) In a very quiet voice, the young lady on the other end of the phone replied to my question of "how are we going to get home?" with "I have no idea. Good luck."

Ordinarily, I wouldn't mind being stranded in New York. Matter of fact, I might relish it under ordinary circumstances. These weren't ordinary circumstances. I spent all day Wednesday on the phone trying to reroute us to Baton Rouge, which had been hit hard but at least the airport was still operational, and trying to find a rental car. It took a while, but I did it.

We tried to enjoy the last couple of days of our trip. There was nothing we could do for anyone back home, and could barely get home if we wanted to. We'd gotten word that the offshore oil rig employees were all safe, if a little seasick, so felt like we could enjoy ourselves some.

Saturday morning came and it was time to go home. Much to my, honest, surprise the New Orleans airport still wasn't open. Now, I'd figured that flights would not be going in and out but it didn't occur to me that the airport would be closed.

Of course, the city itself was closed and people were living in the airport so my naivete' was showing.

Our rerouted flight home included a stop in Houston before making the last leg to Baton Rouge. I remember looking out the window and thinking we'd made a wrong turn and landed in Baghdad. We were surrounded on the tarmac by military cargo planes, loaded with supplies for the Coast and New Orleans. Our plane was almost completely silent. There were simply no words to describe what we were seeing and many of the passengers, like us, were trying to get home and see the damage for themselves. Some didn't know if they could get home or if they even had a home to go to. We at least knew that our family and our home were safe and still standing.

But we did still have a problem. My car. Now, that may not seem like a big problem to some of you, but it was an issue. Billy had to take his mom back to Arkansas and work. We didn't know when he'd be back. And the news was full of stories of New Orleans being looted and vandalized so you had to wonder if there would still be a car to pick up if we left it there. No one could even begin to predict when the airport would reopen. I had to have transportation and a rental car for an indefinite time period, given the supply and demand for them, was an expensive prospect.

So we discussed it. We didn't actually make a decision until we left the Baton Rouge Airport. We headed east. We were going to see if we could get my car out of there.

It's dark now. We hadn't been able to leave as early as we normally did but we had limited options. We were driving those 60 miles towards New Orleans. Same as we had the week before only this time the lanes coming towards us were empty. No cars where it had been bumper to bumper 6 days previously.

We got close to the Causeway but were met by a wall of flashing blue lights. Police cars crossed I-10 and no one was getting through. Everyone exited at LaPlace. Some people would have turned around at this point, but not us. Oh, no. We had a car to retrieve and we weren't giving up that easily.

We took old roads. We took back roads. We turned and twisted and doubled back and did all kinds of things that I can no longer remember. Suddenly, we found ourselves on I-310 headed south towards Houma. Houma had pretty much been wiped off the map so going that way was not going to get us far.

I crossed the median and turned around. Exits for the airport were in sight! We'd made it!

As Lee Corso would say, not so fast my friend!

A state trooper was sitting on the side of the road at the exit. But he wasn't blocking it so I kept going. Blue lights appeared in my rearview mirror. I stopped. The officer walked to the passenger side and Billy rolled down his window. I just sat there. Sometimes it is best to let the man do the talking.

Billy explained our situation. Officer didn't really care. The city was closed. The airport was closed. We needed to move along. I'm thinking about all the hours we'd spent getting there only to be stopped with the destination in sight. Billy kept talking to the officer. He just kept telling us bad things were. We'd seen the news. We knew. Finally, the officer relented. He looked at Billy, looked at me, then back at Billy. He said it was a bad idea and he was advising against it, but he wasn't going to stop us.

Billy thanked him and off we went.

Blackness was all we saw. Complete and utter darkness.

Billy started with the phrase I'd hear many more times before the night was over - don't stop this car for anything.

We saw the exit for the airport. Don't stop this car for anything.

We pulled closer. For the first time I thought about the electronic arms where you take the ticket and pay the cashier. Don't stop this car for anything. What would we do if they were down? Don't stop this car for anything. My heart is beating faster. Don't stop this car for anything.

Billy told me to pull up as close to the back of my car as I could when we got there, stop only long enough for him to get out and then take off. Don't stop this car for anything.

I wasn't running red lights, because there were none. There were no traffic lights, no street lights, no lights of any kind. I see the parking garage. The arm was up! I was glad we had parked in the employee lot. It was on the ground floor. I pulled up to the first row. Terrified that someone might step out from between the cars. Don't stop this car for anything. Billy had his keys in his hand. Get back to the Baton Rouge Airport as quickly as possible after he got out, he instructed. I see the car. It looks undamaged. I see no one else in the garage. Don't stop this car for anything. I pull up to my trunk. Billy bolts, hitting the remote to unlock the car door. He's in. The engine turns over. I hear it. I see the reverse lights. I pull off.

I don't need him to tell me not to stop the car. I can hear him saying it my head. My voice has joined in repeating the mantra. I get to the exit. This arm is down. I turn and circle the lot. Billy is right behind me. Close behind me. I turn and go out the entrance. I head back to the interstate. I've never seen it so dark. I'm driving quickly. The airport isn't exactly in the best part of town and I'm scared. But I'm not stopping. There's no reason to. I get on the interstate and head west. I see the police cars crossing the interstate but they're on the other side. Nothing is in our way. I'm not stopping for anything.

We cover the 60 miles back to Baton Rouge a lot more quickly than we should have. Driving with fear and adrenaline. My heart was pounding in my ears. It is now after 10 PM and we're still nervous about the Baton Rouge Airport. It doesn't do much business that time of night. The parking garage was a prime place for anything to happen. We park in the rental car lot, transfer the bags to my car with surprising efficiency and turn the keys in. The rental car counter looked at us with surprise but I think they were glad to get the car back so they could re-rent it. The line waiting for a car was long.

The journey wasn't over, though. We had completed our mission, but we had no idea if we could actually get home. Highway 61 is two lanes for a great deal of it and there are several small towns along the way. Could we get through? Was it passable?

It was after midnight when we pulled up at home. Exhausted. But home, safe and sound.

Several weeks later I had to fly to Atlanta. The trip had been booked months before and I was to fly out of New Orleans. The airport opened a couple of weeks before my flight, but you sure couldn't tell it. When Billy dropped me off he questioned as to whether or not I had actually verified the flight. The airport was deserted. Quiet. The complete opposite of a mere few weeks before.

There had been no changes so I went in. Checked in and got through security in minutes. I called Billy's cell phone to tell him I was in and at the gate. He'd barely gotten off the airport property. I pretty much had the place to myself.

As is part of my normal routine when I fly, I visited the ladies room first. I was struck by the knowledge that people had been living in there only weeks before. Living in the bathroom. Living in those gates and hallways where I was about to go sit and wait until the plane was ready to board.

It still happens to me - every time I go to the airport. I see the police blocking the interstate. I see the darkness. My heart pounds. I see the road that was our only way in. I envision the people camped out in the hallways.

Some folks will say we took foolish measures to retrieve an object. An object that could be replaced. But that night it was all we could focus on. Maybe it was the need to feel complete, or in control of a situation where we'd had none all week. Maybe it was just the urge to put New Orleans in our rear view mirror and not have to worry about it again for a long time which we couldn't have done if our car was still there.

At home, everything was normal. Puppies waiting on us to lick our faces. A happy mother-in-law, for a lot of reasons. There was laundry to do. Order to restore. And a good night's sleep was top of the list.

It was a bad storm. So bad that people still talk about it. It left lasting effects on us, the country, the city, and all her citizens.

And her name was Katrina.

The Forgotten

I thought about saving this post until Veteran's Day, but changed my mind. We shouldn't wait for a special day to remember.

One of the most moving moments from our Patriots of America Tour last month came for me on Friday morning. We drove around Washington DC looking at monuments but we stopped at the war memorials.

The World War II monument was large, opulent, and impressive. All the states and territories are represented - and all 48 states (at the time) and 6 territories (including Alaska and Hawaii) sent troops. Arches with Atlantic and Pacific on them remind visitors that we fought on both sides of the world. It truly was a sight to see.




The Vietnam Memorial was quiet and solemn. The long, low, black wall covered with names.

The bronze statue of the female soldiers tending the wounded.

The statue of the men that was added later. Made you really wonder why it took so long to come to reality. There should never had been a delay to honor any of our fallen.

But the most moving to me was the Korean War Memorial. Let's face it, if not for the television show M*A*S*H most in my generation might not even know about it. I honestly don't remember learning much about it in school, if anything. It is called the Forgotten War. Yet the memorial is literally life sized and incredibly symbolic. There are 19 statues of soldiers in the space.



They reflect off a marble wall. That reflection causes you to see 38 "people" which is to remind us that we helped stop the spread of Communism at the 38Th parallel. The marble wall has not only names but faces etched in it. Real people who died for the bigger world view. It really almost brought me to tears.

I've posted the video below that I took. I tried to do videos at a lot of the stops just so I could capture all that our guides were telling us without having to rely on my over-40 memory, which isn't what it used to be. If you watch it, be kind. Remember that I wasn't trying to narrate a documentary, nor did I use my most professional, devoid of Southerness stage voice. It's just me talking.

World's Apart

We are all women of about the same age.

We have all lived in Arkansas.

We're all married, and have been for a long time.

I think this is where the similarities end between me, a high school friend, and Michelle Duggar.

You know her - the mom of 19. She and her husband have said they would even welcome more.

Now, before I get started let me set the stage. While I may disagree with their choice, I'm not here to bash it. This is a married couple making a decision that married couples make and they aren't taking any money from the government to support their family. With no taxpayer dollars involved, this taxpayer doesn't believe she should get a vote.

No, I'm just thinking tonight about the contrasts.

Forty years ago, if you saw a family with 19 children you had one thought, and one thought only - they're Catholic.

Let's face it, no self-respecting Methodist or Baptist family was going to have 19 children. It just didn't happen. It wasn't socially accepted.

But there were families that had children numbering into the teens. Depending on the size of your town, there was most likely more than one.

I can't imagine having even one child. I certainly can't imagine having a child at my age.

Forty years ago, Billy and I would have been the couple that people clucked their tongues at behind our backs and felt sorry for us. Poor, childless couple. Now, I know lots of couples that have been married for 20 years or more and have made the choice, as we have, to be child-free.

I also have a friend that has been married for 15 or 16 years, my age, that had her dreams of adoption come true - twice. In less than a year. They had been on a list for almost 5 years to adopt a little girl from China. That was done after working through the American system since almost the day they were married with only one partial success (they had a little girl placed with them then the mother recanted the adoption). While they were waiting for China an opportunity for a local, private adoption presented itself. They brought home their beautiful son last year. There were fears that it would jeopardize their Chinese adoption due to some timing restrictions the Chinese government imposed, but it all worked out and their daughter joined them earlier this year.

Less than a year after her brother. Instant family of four.

Better her than me! Of course, she's been on Cloud Nine for a long time. I'd be perched on the edge of the Mississippi River Bridge.

Three women.

Same age.

Very different situations.

Fortunately for all of us, society has changed since we were little girls. We can grow up to have whatever kind of family we choose. We can hold whatever types of jobs for which we're qualified.

No restrictions, or at least not near as many.

So, while I may not agree with a lot of societal changes (I'm still considered quite old-fashioned in many circles), I am glad for this one. That families can be accepted in any size.

I have mentioned before how different things are just in my own family. I reflected on my 40th birthday that my grandmother had baby less than a year old and a 7 year old when she was 40. My mother at age 40 had a junior in college.

I was still free.

I guess my message here is one of acceptance. We don't have to agree with someone else's choices always to be tolerant of them. We aren't forced to like how other people live their lives, but it is their life.

And their choice.

They may disagree with you. I'm certain the Duggars would be absolutely convinced that Billy and I were missing out on something. But in today's world, when there really are so many things that we really do need to care about and try to make better, this is one area where I think we can back off.

After all, who and what defines a family? A family, to me, is a collection of people that are connected - sometimes by birth, sometimes by circumstance - that care for and about one another.

Some are just bigger than others.

The Amish Experience

Day Three of our trip took us from Philadelphia to Gettysburg. Through Pennsylvania Dutch country with a stop in Lancaster County.

What a stop! We had lunch in traditional Amish fashion. Toured a standard, albeit smaller, Amish house and school and saw a film called "Jacob's Choice". All were wonderful, but I want to share what I learned. Hopefully I'm recalling it all correctly.

In the Amish culture, you are not truly considered "Amish" until you are baptized in the faith. Your baptism cannot occur before age 16.

At age 16 the youth in the community are given the opportunity for "rumspringa" - a period of adolescence. (My research indicates that not all Amish sects offer this choice but many do). During this time the teens are able to live as the "English" (non-Amish) do. They wear, if they want, clothes like you and me. They drive cars, play sports, use computers, go to movies, watch television, and so forth. After a period of time they make a choice. They can continue living this lifestyle, or they can be baptized in the Amish faith and live in their community.

I think it is so totally cool, on a lot of levels, that they can make this choice for themselves.

The Amish want those that live in their community to truly WANT to be there. They want their members to know what else is out there, experience it, and then choose where they want to stay. They want their members to be fully aware of what they are giving up. Then, there's no regrets. It's an informed decision they are making.

A couple getting married in this faith know that their future spouse has the same commitment to faith, family, community that they themselves do.

So many of us grow up following our family traditions and beliefs without really knowing why. We're Methodist or Baptists or whatever because that is what we've always been. And there is certainly nothing wrong with that but there is also nothing wrong with asking questions, learning, exploring and expanding and then making an informed choice on our own.

I've thought about this for a very long time, but more so in the last several days. Especially after the newspaper coverage of Chelsea Clinton's wedding. She was raised a Methodist and married a man of the Jewish faith. A conservative Jew I think he was called. USA Today went on to show that over the last couple of decades there has been a rise in mixed-faith marriages and had a long article on how couples make this work.

Not to anger anyone, but this one area that I have considered quite a bit. Faith and religion are important factors in a marriage and raising a family. I was raised Protestant. I married a Catholic. This was fine to me because the core of both faiths were similar. We both believe in God and that Jesus is his Son and the Messiah.

I knew a woman years ago that was Protestant and married a Jewish man. I'm pretty sure she later converted to Judaism. I remember thinking that was a big leap for me. One of believing the Messiah had come and we're waiting for the return visit to one of Jesus was a prophet and we're still waiting for The One.

Of course, it is none of my business. As long as she studied and researched and reached that conclusion on her own then so be it.

I actually applaud faiths that do require some study and thought before you're allowed to belong. If you don't really understand the basis of a religion then how do you know you can follow it? I don't want to proclaim myself to be a follower and then live my life in a contradictory manner. Or to think I can pick and choose the pieces of a faith that I like and just ignore the rest. Some of you are thinking "but nothing is perfect and no religion is going to meet all our needs. We have to go with the one that we agree with the majority of the principles."

Your choice.

And now I've gotten off on a long tangent. But my point is not lost, I hope. To be an Amish you have to choose to want to be Amish and you make that desicion with all the facts in front of you.

Other things I learned - the Amish do not "hate" technology. Their view is that technology can fine as long as you control it and not vice versa. Most of us in today's world can't say that we're not controlled by technology - cell phones, computers, email, faxes, planning our evenings around the TV Guide. If there is a need, the Amish bishop can permit the technology. One example was a young girl who needed a respirator. One outlet was added to the home and wired for electricity. She wasn't going to be allowed to die just because electricity is a no-no. But they found the way to control the addition of technology, not the other way around. Also, they don't like to have their picture taken. Consider it be like a graven image, which is prohibited by the Big Ten (Commandments). I only wish I could have taken a picture of the two youngs boys we bought painted horsehoes from. I don't know that I've ever seen eyes that blue!

The Amish don't need much. They care for each other. Their sense of community is unlike anything else that exists. They each know if they have a need it will be met. And met by those from within. No dependence on a big government for things they can do themselves. The "English" in the surrounding communities also know that the Amish willingness to help and be good neighbors extends beyond their own borders.

So, our trip was both fun and educational. As it was meant to be. Maybe we could all learn some lessons about good honest living from the Plain People - their term, not my assessment.

And for those that are wondering, our guide told us that 95% return to the Amish faith after rumspringa. Makes you think a little, doesn't it? I wonder how many would return to our lifestyle if we spent a few years living as the Amish do?

Edited Version

Everyone - the emailed version of Patriots of America was not the final one. I had several problems last night with the blog.

First, we didn't tell anyone that Andrea wasn't invited. It was a joke between Brett and me. It never left us. I didn't type it right the first time and though I deleted it several times, it still made the final. My apologies.

Second, the book is "Founding Brothers".

Third, Gilliam got us everywhere, not everyone.

The proper version of the blog is posted. The recorded version will be correct.

Technology.

Sorry, again.

Patriots of America - Part 1

After last week, I have much to share so I am anticipating a two-parter on this one.

My mom, my niece Brett and I all took a trip together last week. It was a structured motor coach tour aimed for school children in the summer.



There were 28 of us all together. Mostly grandparents with grandchildren. One other family had 3 generations - one grandfather, his daughter, her daughter and a grandson from one of his other children. There was one couple with their son.

We were the only family with our particular combination.

History is just more my thing and Mom thought it would be good for me to go.

Brett and I had a ball together! Such a wonderful opportunity for some quality one-on-one time that we don't have very often.



The tour covered a lot of areas. We started in Philadelphia and saw the Liberty Bell, Independence Hall, Betsy Ross' house, and the Constitution Center.

Even met Ben Franklin!



The tour continued down through the Pennsylvania Dutch country to Gettysburg then on to Colonial Williamsburg, Mt. Vernon and finally Washington, D.C.

The tour company had a suggested reading list. I bought the set but, let's face it folks, I've been a little busy so I didn't get to read them before I left.

After the trip, I'm now starting on "Founding Brothers".

It was really awe-inspiring to be standing in Independence Hall and think that you had just crossed the same threshold that George Washington, Ben Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, John Hancock, all those men, had also crossed.

Gave me chills, actually.

These were not just names in a book anymore. They were coming to life!


On Wednesday we heard "Patrick Henry" at Williamsburg. The gentleman portraying him was incredible. It was like we were hearing him in real time.

And he didn't do the whole "Give Me Liberty or Give Me Death" speech, though he did discuss it when asked. His words to the crowd there were as they would have been 150 years ago when the Constitution was being written. You really got a sense of how thoughtful our Founding Fathers were and how seriously they took the task at hand.

They only knew what type of government they didn't want. They had no real foundation or example for what they were trying to build. Yet the Constitution was written in 3 months time.

And they didn't all agree with each other. But they learned to compromise and work for the good of the people. I may be remembering incorrectly but the Constitution itself didn't call for a two party system. The separate parties evolved naturally. George Washington only ran for a second term because the disagreements between Thomas Jefferson and someone else were getting so contentious that he felt it best.

But both were passionate.

The citizens of this new nation were more important than whose name got to be first or whose state could profit most.

You felt that listening to Patrick Henry. The passion in his voice. The sense of the greater good for which they were striving.

It wasn't just business as usual.

You really started to realize, at least I did and I think from the spontaneous applause from the audience others did as well, how far from those ideals and principles our government has moved.

And that is directed at the whole government and for many years. Not just the current Administration or any one party.

Our government as a whole.

They talk, but do they say anything?

Is there any passion in their words? Any feelings at all - other than boredom maybe?

Has serving the great citizens of these United States of America become just a job?

I realized how much I'd forgotten about our own history. Which is a shame. Everyone needs a refresher course. We need to remember what people went through in order for us to be free. And I'm not just talking about those who died. Obviously those men who fought for our independence are patriots. But I think we sometimes forget there were 56 men who signed that Declaration.

They all put their lives on the line for a better way of life of all of us.

Forty men, some the same as the above, developed and signed the Constitution. A guiding document for this new, free country. Again, not for personal recognition but for everyone.

It was a great week. So, thanks to Gilliam for getting us everywhere safely and to Beth for making education so much fun!



There's more to come!