Gummibunny

I just saw the funniest thing on TV ever.
Lee and I were watching television, and there was a mistake during the commercials. Something got crossed, and you could see the video for one commercial but you were hearing the audio for another commercial.
The first commercial was video from a Friedman’s ad, and audio promoting an upcoming show or something. A couple of highlights were when the happy woman opened a jewelry box, and the voice you heard said, “Unacceptable!” Then at the end of that commercial, as the Friedman’s logo came on screen, the voice said, “What is the price for peace?” Apparently, it’s platinum and sparkly.
Then, the next video you saw was one of those Subway commercials featuring Jared, the guy who lost a billion pounds eating sandwiches. As he shows us a pair of his “fat boy” pants, the voice to another ad for an upcoming show says, “What are the signs telling us?” Then the next shot is of Jared running on the beach, and the voice says, “It paints a portrait of MURDER!”
Oh my goodness. Lee and I laughed and laughed and cried. I couldn’t stop laughing. I still can’t stop laughing.
I guess you had to be there to appreciate it – but believe me, it was really funny.

…Is give peace a chance.
That song has been in my head.
Things don’t look good for peace. I really hope this can all have a happy ending and everyone goes home and behaves, but I really don’t think that will be the case. Yes, our “terror alert” status has been raised to high, but really, what can I do about that? What good does it do for me to worry? I do worry some, but it’s mostly for friends and family in the military – not for myself. Yet.
I did wonder about the vacation Lee and I are hoping to take this summer to Alaska. Will it be safe to travel by then? But then I thought, Alaska doesn’t seem to be a likely target for a terrorist attack. Well, there is the pipeline, so we’ll stay out of Valdez. Okay, so maybe it’s not completely safe, but really, where is? I’m not going to live in a bunker. Yet.

I didn’t even know we had a space shuttle landing today. I didn’t even know we had a shuttle in the sky. That’s how little I keep up with our space program. Space shuttles take-off and land all the time – it seemed almost ordinary. Until I was reminded today that what those astronauts do is extraordinary.
Lee and I were in the car, on Interstate 16, with National Public Radio on our dial, but turned down as we were talking. But suddenly, you could tell the tone of the voices on the radio had changed. That’s when we turned up the volume and learned the “space shuttle Columbia has been seen breaking apart in the skies over Texas” as the news was first being reported.
It took a little while for me to realize what was happening. I mean, accidents happen, people die, and it’s very sad every time. But as the news anchor repeatedly said, “For those of you just joining us…” and detailed again the tragedy unfolding, it sunk in. And my heart felt heavy.
Not only did seven people die, but they were people who were brave, incredibly intelligent, and adventurous beyond belief. I was sad such people were lost. I was sad because we were reminded that we do have limitations. Space exploration had been going so well – we are Americans and we can send someone into orbit whenever we please. But we were reminded today that sometimes, they don’t come back. I was sad because even though I hadn’t kept up with ongoing missions, the space program is a source of national pride. Our national pride was scarred again today. I was sad for everyone in the control room who watched the data disappear from the screen and listened to silence.
It wasn’t just a story about the death of seven people. It was a story about the death of seven remarkable souls in very public way, and the failure of one of America’s strengths – especially in a time when we need good news about our country instead of news of war and recession.
My heart was broken for the families that gathered at the landing strip to welcome their loved ones home, who will go home without even a casket. My only comfort is to think that those seven people spent their last living days in an extraordinary way. They truly lived fascinating lives, and lived long enough to fulfill the dreams many boys and girls have when they look up at the sky.

I know it is January. I know it is supposed to be cold in January. But that doesn’t always mean the weather in Savannah will follow that rule. Take, for instance, last Tuesday. It was 70 degrees. But today, it’s cold. The low was about 18 (and I was outside in it when it hit that record low), and tonight it’s supposed to dip to about 15 degrees. I know there are a lot of places a lot colder than this, but this is Savannah after all. I gained some perspective when I checked the weather for Anchorage this morning, and Savannah’s temperature was colder.

It looked less like an office and more like an elementary school classroom at work this morning. Faces were constantly pressed up to the windows providing a view of Victory Drive and the weather. It wasn’t snowing yet, but we were hopeful.
Finally, just before noon, the cry, “it’s snowing!” rang through the office, sending half of us into giggles and the rest out the back door. I was the “out the back door” type, throwing on my heavy coat and hoping to catch some flakes on my tongue.
They were so small at first. A few landed on my dark jacket and I ran inside to show off the flakes. Everyone was impressed, I’m sure.
Throughout the early afternoon, the flurries would stop and start, and with every stop I was sure it was over. But all of the sudden, the flurries turned into huge snowflakes and they fell hard, swirling around the streets, floating around the live oak trees and making Savannah look like a completely different town.
Everywhere you went, people seemed excited. There was a man walking alone down the side of a street who stopped long enough to look up at the falling snow and grin like a schoolkid. Neighboring counties cancelled school, proving again that people in the south go nuts if a snowflake falls.
The snow was beautiful, and warmed my heart all day. It was kind of funny, because you’d think I wouldn’t get so worked up about a snow that wouldn’t stick. With the ground not yet frozen, it technically wasn’t much different than a rain. It wasn’t like I could have a snowball fight or sled (not that flat-as-a-pancake Savannah has a single hill to sled on), but it looked beautiful spiraling into the golden marshes, and I was thrilled to watch the white stuff fall.

Lee and I went to a hockey game last night, and it rocked.
Every year, Savannah hosts “Rumble in the Rink.” UGA, Tech, UF and FSU all come to town for a two day exhibition tournament. Our civic center floor is iced over, and the fun begins. Last night, we had tickets to the UGA/Tech game.
It was only the second hockey game I’ve ever attended, but I loved it. I don’t really know why, but from the minute the puck hit the ice I was yelling, cheering, even “coaching” from my seat – which is espeically obnoxious because I don’t know the rules of the game. I usually consider myself to be peace-loving, but I liked it when the players slammed each other against the walls of the rink. I don’t want anyone to get hurt, but I like to see ’em fight for it!
What’s wrong with me?
Anyway, I told Lee if we ever moved somewhere with a hockey team, we had to get season tickets. He kind of looked at me like I was speaking jibberish and asked me if I was drunk. I wasn’t. I had been nursing the same warm bud light the whole game. I’d only had a few sips, partly because it tasted so bad, and partly because I was spending all my time yelling. But oh well. He likes the game too, even if he doesn’t scream about it like I do. Hockey rules.

Even when all is quiet, nothing is really quiet. Right now, Lee is working at his computer and I’m playing on mine, and the TV is not on, the radio is not on, and the dog is sleeping. This is a rare moment. At first, it seems quiet. But there is always noise. The computer computing. The heater heating. The refrigerator refrigerating.
But it’s nice. I like sound. There is an owl (or maybe more than just one) that lives near my house. Every time it hoots, I think about my grandparents and the farm they used to have in Cordele. That’s where I used to always hear hooting owls. It never fails – if I’m in the backyard, busy doing whatever I might be doing, I’ll hear the owl and immediately I see the farm. A sea of watermelons. The dust in the air from the dirt roads. The dogs and the pecan trees and the little house and wonderful people in the middle of it all.
I’ve also noticed recently you can hear a train go by sometimes. When I hear it, it makes me think of Fitzgerald. The town is so small you can hear the train from practically anywhere. I think it’s neat how certain senses can transport you so fully. Or at least that’s what they do to me.
I remember on one family vacation to Destin, Florida, I stood on the balcony of the condo we were renting admiring the palm trees and the sand and the salty air. My dad was with me, and I said I wished I could bottle the moment and keep it for a bad day at work – then uncork it and be right back there if only for a minute or two. He told me that’s why we have memories. Sometimes, if I’m somewhere special, I’ll try to be still for a minute or two and soak up a really good memory. And sometimes, it works.