Newscoma

My relationship with ice (the natural kind, not this kind) is an odd one, but it’s mine. Back when I was 19 years-old, I was driving down the street and lost control of my car. I went head-0n (thank goodness driving pretty slow) into a parked car. Totaled my car, totaled the other car and thank goodness, I was okay although a little worse for wear.

I hit black ice. I couldn’t see it, but it was there. So, I have a cautious fear of ice. It’s not a blinding “OHMYGAWDTHEREIS ICE FALLINGFROM THE SKY” sort of fear, it’s just a healthy respect.

I can drive in snow all day long. Living in Montreal when I was younger created me having a pretty good understanding of moving my vehicle through the fluffy stuff, but after I had the wreck, I became very anxious about ice. I’m one of those people that when sleet and ice starts, I’m ready to send my employees who have the same trepidation that I do home as many of them live out in the country on trecherous backroads.

When I had my wreck, I was headed to work. This just sits in the back of my cranium when there is icy stuff on the ground.  With the wonderful addition of cell phones, fax machines and the innertubes over the past few years, I’m under the impression much of what is done at the office can be done at home and no one loses in situations like this. Of course, for clerical-based staff, this is a bit more difficult, but I’d much rather allow flexibility to people who aren’t comfortable driving in icy conditions. I don’t want them to go through what I went through.

I have no idea why this was in my brain, but it was.

I think it goes without saying that there is always a small herd of small dogs on top of me. I present you with Mabel’s ass and Kirby, the blind one, wanting some ‘Coma attention.

 I’ve had a few e-mails about this post. I thought I’d go into the mailbag and answer your questions.

1. Are you moving? No, I’m talking about a spiritual journey. I’m actually pretty happy with my job right now and with my life overall. When folks have made me an offer, I’ve opted to stay with the paper. Not saying that I wouldn’t take an offer, but it has to feel right and thus far, it hasn’t.
2.  What kind of camera do you have? Fuji 7.3 FinePix A700, and I’m going through the book like a fiend because I’m used to shooting with film and I’m having to learn something new.
3. What kind of camera does Squirrel Queen have? She shoots sports, so she needed something that would accomodate that, so she uses a Nikon D 70 Digital SLR. She’s actually quite talented and very serious about taking pics. She’ll be up with a new site on wordpress this weekend. Blogging for her is sort an exercise in getting better where I just like to write about working in a small town newspaper, weirdness and my dissatisfaction with our government right now.
4. Do you ever not put things on this blog? Absolutely. There is a difference between the newspaper and this blog. I try to keep them seperate and just comment on my observations and some of the quirks about small town media.
5. Do you believe in God? Yes, but that’s private between me and him.
6. Who is Homer? She is the sister.
7. Who is Squeegee Monkey? He is the bro-in-law.
8. When you coming to Nashville? Next Wednesday. I have plans Wednesday night and classes Friday and I’m thinking of staying over into Saturday or even Sunday if it’s feasible.
9. You’re not as shrill as you used to be.  ‘Coma, you losing your edge? No, I’m just mellowing a bit. I’m sure I will be shrill in the future, but as I don’t like being shrill so I’m working on that. I can be a voice without your ears bleeding.

So there you go. Hopefully, I’ve answered your questions. And yeah, they cancelled the snow advisory. They say it may hit later, but I’m not holding my breath. I leave you with some photochop I did of a Vargas pic hanging on the wall at Chez Coma.

I posted about a half an hour ago about Molly Ivins passing. I guess I just can’t stop, so let me tell you about what Ivins meant to me. I wrote about this earlier this week when I learned she was ill.

In all honesty, she reminded me of my mother, who died in 1998.

She made me want to be better, and have a hard edge with a smile on my face, ignoring adversity. She asked the hard questions, and took a beating sometimes. She never pretended that she wasn’t human, and she made me want to write editorials for a newspaper. She created an environment where she trusted that newspapers had an objective voice, against the odds of ownership and political pressure, regardless of shrill critics.

She made me want to be a part of something bigger than myself through the words she wrote.

So tonight, a star shines brighter, because she’s up there. And there is lump in my throat because, although I never met her, her writing spoke volumes and taught small-town folks like me that you could do better. That being accessible, even through the odds, was of value.

And tonight, liberal girls who know how to spin a line or two, mourn. Because she paved the way.

Go gently into that good night, Ms. Ivins. And thank you.

And a candle is lit.

Molly Ivins has succumbed to breast cancer.

And I’m sad about this.

Photo from here

Update: This is the one of the last columns written by Ivins. Read and enjoy.

Okay, the weather thingamabob on my computer just made this weird sound of thunder. Being that I dig thunderstorms and snow, I was not concerned. This afternoon, I sorta hung out, unexpectedly, with a local business diva and she and I had a long talk about grants, economic development (which I used to work in and I truly miss) and Black History in our community.

It was cool because it was a mighty fine conversation and, in all honesty, I felt very much at home with it. I dug finding grants, I just hated writing them. I’d rather write about Bigfoot and politics, bug the crap out of my local politicians (now stop it, I don’t mean that way in a bad way) with ideas about long range plans on domestic violence legislation or my perception of them and run a rural newspaper.

I kinda dig it.

Sometimes, I just want to ramble on about what we can do, instead of what we aren’t doing.

Know what I mean?

And Jon, my dear sweet brother from the east, it’s not the weather bug, but it’s something from the Weather Channel. Do I dump this bad boy?