Do I really need to be concerned about my own mental health when the world around me has gone mad?
I just received breaking news that there is an active shooter at Smith Tower in downtown Vancouver.
Smith Tower. An apartment complex for retired citizens in the small downtown area of Vancouver. About 2 blocks from where I catch the #105 I-5 Express to Portland several days a week.
Smith Tower holds many memories for me and my family. As a child, I spent several hours a week there from a very young age. Our family visited a dear friend, who my brother and I called "Aunt Mame". We came by, usually on a Sunday afternoon and visited in her apartment. She had a small piano, that my dad and I took turns playing. She never failed to bestow on my younger brother and I a goody bag - which was a brown paper sack filled with crackers, candy, cereal, etc.
My mother and Mame talked about current events, family and friends. Smith Tower was a bright spot in my childhood. As was Mame. She left me her piano when she passed away. I was a senior in high school. She was a dear, sweet lady whom I wish I would have gotten to know better.
I just got off the phone with my mother. I told her that there was an active shooter at Smith Tower. The news said he was 80 years old. They are negotiating with him, but they recommend staying away from the area.
If you are ever in downtown Vancouver, you would remember Smith Tower. It is a tall, cylinder shaped building near the I-5 bridge. And now it is a crime scene.
I was going to blog about a man I met at the bus stop this morning. I think I'll still tell you about him. He was a disabled vet. Even before he proudly told me he was a Marine, I guessed it. Sturdy, bald, muscular gentleman with several tattoes and a hat with "Desert Storm" blazened across the front. He carried himself like a Marine. Although, he was confined to a motorized scooter.
We chatted for a bit. He told me about his new blue tooth that wasn't working well with his phone. "It keeps getting my music all messed up", he told me with a scowl. Then he showed me his portable charger.
"Feel this!", he exclaimed, handing me the power source. "Isn't that heavy?", he asked with a smile.
I told him it was. "You could use it to defend yourself, if needed!" I exclaimed.
"Nope", he said, spinning his scooter around. "First I butt them with my scooter, then I whip around and nail 'em with my big backpack!"
"Oh!" I said.
"I'm a Marine", he grinned.
I thank him for his service. Just then the bus pulled up. The Marine rolled on and took charge. He told the bus driver how he liked to be secured in his chair. "No shoulder or belt harness".
The bus driver complied. And then we took off. My new friend sitting up straight in the front, talking to the driver in his loud, commanding voice.
I felt tears well up. This man risked his life for our freedom. All the other passengers on the bus, were stooped in their seats, studying their cell phones like zombies. But he was alert. As if he was securing the perimeter.
And when our bus had to take a detour because of a severe rollover crash on I-405, he remarked that he hoped there were no serious injuries. A few people glanced up, but then quickly looked back at their screens. The bus had to go a different route downtown. Down 5th, before we went up 6th. Several people got up and asked the driver if they could get off, but the Marine informed them that we were on a detour.
He explained that the bus could not stop until we got to our usual route.
I felt like saluting him.
And now, I must depart. I have piano students soon.
I can't help but feel that the pendulum swung way too close to me today. A shooting in my city. At Smith Tower.
I wish I always had a Marine escort!
Be safe my friends.
Talk to you tomorrow.
Love,
Zita
P.S. Here is today's hooping video. Day 158!
I just received breaking news that there is an active shooter at Smith Tower in downtown Vancouver.
Smith Tower. An apartment complex for retired citizens in the small downtown area of Vancouver. About 2 blocks from where I catch the #105 I-5 Express to Portland several days a week.
Smith Tower holds many memories for me and my family. As a child, I spent several hours a week there from a very young age. Our family visited a dear friend, who my brother and I called "Aunt Mame". We came by, usually on a Sunday afternoon and visited in her apartment. She had a small piano, that my dad and I took turns playing. She never failed to bestow on my younger brother and I a goody bag - which was a brown paper sack filled with crackers, candy, cereal, etc.
My mother and Mame talked about current events, family and friends. Smith Tower was a bright spot in my childhood. As was Mame. She left me her piano when she passed away. I was a senior in high school. She was a dear, sweet lady whom I wish I would have gotten to know better.
I just got off the phone with my mother. I told her that there was an active shooter at Smith Tower. The news said he was 80 years old. They are negotiating with him, but they recommend staying away from the area.
If you are ever in downtown Vancouver, you would remember Smith Tower. It is a tall, cylinder shaped building near the I-5 bridge. And now it is a crime scene.
We chatted for a bit. He told me about his new blue tooth that wasn't working well with his phone. "It keeps getting my music all messed up", he told me with a scowl. Then he showed me his portable charger.
"Feel this!", he exclaimed, handing me the power source. "Isn't that heavy?", he asked with a smile.
I told him it was. "You could use it to defend yourself, if needed!" I exclaimed.
"Nope", he said, spinning his scooter around. "First I butt them with my scooter, then I whip around and nail 'em with my big backpack!"
"Oh!" I said.
"I'm a Marine", he grinned.
I thank him for his service. Just then the bus pulled up. The Marine rolled on and took charge. He told the bus driver how he liked to be secured in his chair. "No shoulder or belt harness".
The bus driver complied. And then we took off. My new friend sitting up straight in the front, talking to the driver in his loud, commanding voice.
I felt tears well up. This man risked his life for our freedom. All the other passengers on the bus, were stooped in their seats, studying their cell phones like zombies. But he was alert. As if he was securing the perimeter.
And when our bus had to take a detour because of a severe rollover crash on I-405, he remarked that he hoped there were no serious injuries. A few people glanced up, but then quickly looked back at their screens. The bus had to go a different route downtown. Down 5th, before we went up 6th. Several people got up and asked the driver if they could get off, but the Marine informed them that we were on a detour.
He explained that the bus could not stop until we got to our usual route.
I felt like saluting him.
And now, I must depart. I have piano students soon.
I can't help but feel that the pendulum swung way too close to me today. A shooting in my city. At Smith Tower.
I wish I always had a Marine escort!
Be safe my friends.
Talk to you tomorrow.
Love,
Zita
P.S. Here is today's hooping video. Day 158!
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