It started out a bright spring morning. I recall being late to work, as I always was. I checked in at the office and began checking off my to-do list. I had a pro-bono job which I had to go check in with a local artist of fame, Pat Gordon, to see how his watercolor image was coming along... an image that would be used in a poster to celebrate the 25th Anniversary of Tulsa's Mayfest.
My meeting was just a couple of blocks from the office, but feeling rushed already that day, I jumped in my Jeep Wrangler and headed over to a recently renovated historic home in midtown Tulsa. I had the radio on and there was an announcement on the radio, something had happened in Oklahoma City and the reporter was not clear but assured there would be updates as more info became available.
I arrived at my appointment. I was given a tour of Pat's home. As we stopped at the doorway to what I think was the dining room, I mentioned the radio announcement, had he heard what was going on in OKC? No, he'd been working in a silent studio all morning, no radio, no television. And we walked upstairs to his light filled studio. We continued discussing his artwork, I looked at his vignette which he was reproducing in amazing detail by brush.
I left a few minutes later, with a timeline for when the painting would be finished. I hopped back into my jeep and headed back to the office. Still curious about the news, I had the radio on. I heard them saying that officials were at the now sealed off Will Rogers Airport. I come from a family of pilots and aerospace business, so my first thoughts were, there must have been a plane crash. Wanting to hear more, I detoured through the neighborhood to buy a little time to keep listening. I drove past an elementary school where kids were running and playing on the playground, laughter and children's voices filled the air. I listened as I heard descriptions of a scene, looks like a war zone, total confusion, horrific scene, people needing medical attention. It became clear to me that something worse than I had assumed was going on.
I headed back to the office. We didn't have a television, but one guy said he'd heard on the radio there was a bombing. Somewhere downtown. We all had work to do and we continued with our day. It was not until I got home later that evening that the reality began to appear to me. The Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City had been bombed. Severely bombed. One side of the building completely sheared off from the explosion. First responders were working to recover bodies and numbers were rolling in about the number of the dead.
As bad and memorable as that day was, my life seemed far away and unscathed by the act of terrorism. I lived 100 miles away and no one I knew was directly affected.
Then about a year and a half later, I had the opportunity to work on a book that chronicled poems and art work that resulted from sessions of art therapy that were held for survivor's of the bombing. It was a project that took several months to edit and design. I took pages home on weekends to proof read. Some of the stories and poems were so rife with deep human pain, that it was difficult to work on it for more than a few moments at a time. There were participants of all ages, from children to adults. Many had lost their parents and spouses. Some were actually there at the bombing that day and had survived. One art therapist proposed a project for the children, many who could not put into words their feelings and thoughts, being too difficult to express. The children were encouraged to write letters for their lost loved ones. Then they folded their messages up and sewed them inside pockets of paper, sewn together with yarn, each child drew pictures for their loved ones on their pockets. And they sewed them together, like a giant quilt. On the last day of the therapy, the children all took their giant quilt outside and they surrounded their quilt and shook it in the air. As the paper rattled in the Oklahoma wind, it was if they were releasing their letters into the spirit world for their loved ones to hear them.
Well, as you can imagine, the book was full of stories like this. Working on it left more of an impression on me than the actual images from the news of the bomb site.
The triumph of the human will. If anything good could come from such a tragedy, it would be the strength of those who survive, and the hope and humility we receive by observing them.
As we remember today, the anniversary of a tragic event in our country's history, let us all pause to reflect on our current political climate in our country. May we find a way to work together to solve the crises that our nation faces. We should remember that those responsible for the Murrah Bombing were Americans acting against America. And innocent lives were lost and forever altered by the destruction. It is a travesty. I pray that all Americans will dial back the messages of hate and intolerance for others whether by race, religion, creed, status or political idea. May today be a reminder to us that our liberties have been won at a high cost, that freedom is never free.
Kasey and I took a nice stroll one evening, taking advantage of slightly cooler temps. We were both camera in hand. Yes, we're related. Not only does the camera give it away, but we are both quite opinionated and don't mind speaking our minds. The traits run in the family. Not bad traits to have if they can be tempered.
Okay, I think this is just about the most gorgeous photo I have ever taken of flowers. I don't know what kind they are. (I have since learned it is called cleome, and have planted some this year in my garden at home.) But I am liking this composition a great deal. Of course Kasey's teacher reminded us that there are lots of photographers who can take a good flower photo. Still, it makes me smile.
And I saw the first signs of fall on our little walk. But I didn't have quite enough light to get a good shot of it. Sorry for the blurrs, but if you read me regularly, you are used to it by now.
And doesn't this just make you wonder? Did these land here during the melting of the last ice age? Cause if not, I'd like to see the bulldozer that could have piled these stones here. I think the landscaper on this project was God himself.
