Tragedy hits home

The sun was shining and it was a gorgeous day in the Philadelphia area. Outside my back window, kids were playing in the field behind my house seemingly unaware of the horrific events that had unfolded hours before. This tragic act of terrorism hit in a city not as far away as most of us adults would like. I sat glued to the news as most people were, I'm sure, thanking the Lord that I didn't know anyone who was remotely near Manhattan.

As many people do in the afternoons, a Shannon woman was walking around the field enjoying King the afternoon sun. I heard her cell phone ring staff writer through my window and the woman's cheerful ._________ _, voice greet the caller. A few minutes later her cheerful laughter turned into sobs of despair. I quickly grabbed my grandmother and told her what was going on. We ran outside to make sure the woman was ok. We quickly found out she had just learned that her close friend of 15 years, was piloting one of the United Airways planes that tragically crashed into the World Trade Center.

The man was from the Glen Mills area, about 20 minutes from Cabrini and five minutes from my house, and had two children, a daughter age 9 and a son just 4 years old. The woman had racked her brain, as I had, thinking of anyone she knew who might have been in New York. The pilot had never crossed her mind.

I always thought that things like this happened to bad people in countries far away. The United States is so advanced and has such high security that nothing like that could happen here. That realm of thinking was quickly diminished as I peered out my window later that night. Looking at the field of 9-year-old soccer players, I wondered how another little girl, probably playing just as carefree yesterday, is coping with the tragic and senseless loss of her father tonight.

You want to blame someone; blame yourself for being an idiot. You want to add to the terrorism, the violence and the hate then you might as well walk yourself across the war line and do it from the other side.

Unbelievable car luck

The summer before my sophomore year of college I saved every penny that I had made working two jobs to save for a car. I finally got my car in August right before I came to school. My little, blue 89' Dodge Sundance was not exactly my first pick of the litter but it was mine. Her name was Lily. I used to complain about my car all Jill C. Hindman of the time, but then one features editor day, the day after Thanksgiving, I had decided that I am going to take pride in my car and take care of it and just be thankful that I have it. That very same day I found out that my sister had crashed my car. Lily had wilted.

Over Christmas break I bought another car. It was an 84' Honda Accord. It died the day after I got it. There was no naming this car. I did not even get a chance to learn where everything was. White smoke started coming out everywhere. I was trying to convince myself that this could be a normal thing, but when I could not see anything but the smoke surrounding me. I knew I had lost yet another.

Well, on the last day of sophomore year I had gotten another car, a 90' Mazda 626. I loved this car. It was cute, it was clean and it worked. I loved driving it. I never named the car though I could never find the proper name so I just called it 'The Mazda". And it was my Mazda until February this past year when I got into a car accident and had $3,000 worth of damage. I went to court and fought for "The Mazda" but of course I lost. Then I tried to sell my hunk of junk and did to some slimy car guy. Who says a girl wearing braided pigtails can't make a sale?

Once again careless and distraught I began to save my money yet again. Thinking that I was going to win my case, which is what should have happened I was going to take that money and put it down on a 96' Honda Accord. Nope, never happened. Well one day I am talking to my grandmother on the phone and she tells me that she is selling her car for $500 to some one she works with and I said I would buy it and she said okay.

After getting my grandmother's car, which she has kept in immaculate condition for 11 years, I was nervous about driving it due to my track record with vehicles. One day I went outside to go to work and my car was gone. Yes it was stolen. Can you believe it? Neither could I. My car was recovered to days later with a broken steering column, but it was fixable. So now I am driving my fourth car in two years and as much as I complained about Lily and "My Mazda" I miss them.

Well my 89' Oldsmobile, with a soft top, is what I call 'The Convertible". Do I have a convertible? No. Do I like to pretend I do? Yes. Can't a girl dream?