Oh no, here she goes...

I have so much to be thankful for. I happened upon a statistic today that was quite disturbing. According to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, the July 2008 unemployment rate in the state of Michigan was 8.5%. That's 51st out of 51. The unemployment rate for Texas was 4.7%, which, shockingly, ranks 20th. I would've thought it would be much closer to the top. South Dakota has the top spot with a rate of 3.0%.

I also found a chart with historical highs and lows for each state. For the historically highest unemployment rate, Michigan once again takes the prize, with the shocking number of 16.9% back in November 1982. WOW. I'm glad I wasn't around here then. I've heard stories that there used to be a sign on the interstate heading out of Flint that said something like, "Would the last one out please turn out the lights."

I've also been keeping up with the rather contrary state of existence in my much-beloved and much-missed hometown of Midland, TX. According to the July 2008 Unemployment Rates for Metropolitan Areas, Midland ranks 11th in the nation with a rate of 3.1%, and Odessa is 20th with 3.7%. Ann Arbor, in comparison, is 272nd in the nation at 6.9%, which is higher than the national average of 6.1%.

Oh, how thankful I am for my job! Because of my own little microcosm of turmoil and upheaval, I was forced right out into the biggest economic turmoil and upheaval in the nation, with no degree and no recent job experience to speak of. But God took care of me. My job certainly isn't glamorous, and I certainly don't get paid very much, but it's still a good deal more than min. wage. My house isn't in foreclosure. My babies' bellies are nice and full as they sleep in their warm little cozy beds. My debt, while more than I care for it to be, is not beyond hope, and is not substantially growing. My budget to keep my tank full of gas is nominal (relatively speaking), since I have all of a four-mile round-trip commute.

God takes care of us everyday.

Watching the news these last couple of days has definitely started the wheels turning in my head. These giant financial brokers on the brink of disaster is quite....umm....interesting. As is the decision of the fed to bail them out. Gah. How did this happen?

Before I delve into that, I'm going to tell you a story.

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Once upon a time, a long, long, long, long...OK, it was March of 1973...a little baby girl was born. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and the apple of her parents' eyes. She had no idea of the prosperity that blessed the region into which she was born known as the Permian Basin. Oil was spewing out the bland, dry, mesquite-covered land like fountains on the Las Vegas strip . And money was spewing out of banks and savings & loans. Her father was right in the middle. Life was good. Great. The bubble was growing.

And then one day, the bubble popped. The little girl was now about 10 or so. The fountains ran dry. Once-sparkly, busy, prosperous office buildings that defined the city's skyline, were left to the elements. Even the legendary cornerstone of the local economy, The First National Bank of Midland, went belly-up. Her parents worked really hard to shelter her from any hardship that might be coming her way, but she still knew enough to understand that things were going to change when she overheard her father utter the word "bankruptcy" to her mother. Her father made a change in direction for his career, and as she entered into teenage-dom, she wasn't able to have all the cool designer fashions as the other kids at school...Guess? and Z Cavaricci jeans, five Swatches each complete with SwatchGuards on her arm. She didn't get a car for her 16th birthday and was forced to share her mother's hopelessly un-cool 1978 Oldsmobile which was so monstrous, it barely fit in the garage. She didn't know it at the time, but her mother's plans for her be a Symphony Debutante were nixed.

While nothing was being handed to her on a silver platter, she was a happy girl. She was actively involved in her high school's marching band, experiencing thrilling things such as traveling to our nation's capital to march for our new President. She got to spend three years at The Greatest University in the nation, The University of Texas, until once again, these financial pressures brought it to an end.

Today, she is a well-rounded, responsible woman with children of her own, who has been blessed with a unique and useful perspective of feast vs. famine. She has gained much wisdom through these experiences. She has learned how not to live beyond her means. She has learned how to find happiness in other places than Stuff. And she is so thankful that while she is in the midst of another terrible and destructive economic recession, she has enough for the time being. And she is at peace.

The End.

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Back to the collapse of the country's financial giants: Just how did it happen?

My theory: Sub-prime mortgages and other frivolous lending tactics. This country is driven to have Stuff, whether or not we can afford it. And when things are going good, the banks and financial brokers will dole out money to people, who at the time don't have any adequate means to pay it back. They all just assume things will keep heading in the same direction, and it'll just fall in their laps. Then when that doesn't happen...

How in the world did this society get to a place where it became totally acceptable to borrow so much dang money? What ever happened to cash on the barrelhead? Yes, I have a mortgage. And no, I would not have this beautiful house without being able to borrow the money to purchase it. At the time I purchased this house with the IX, I was fully planning on living in it with him, and not having to pay for it on my own. It's not a big fancy über-luxurious place. My neighbors are almost right on top of me. It's covered in...ack...siding. And it pretty much looks just like every other house in the neighborhood. We probably could've been approved for one of the sub-prime mortgages for a much grander dwelling, but we didn't even go down that road. We got a standard, 30-year fixed mortgage. We purchased what at the time, we could afford. And now it just so happens that I find myself facing a lot of hard work to keep it that way.

Anyway...we are a nation of borrowers. We don't like the concept of delayed gratification. And look at where it has gotten us. AGAIN.

I want a deck on the back of my house sooooo bad. But I'm not going to borrow to get it. I haven't bought a stitch of new clothing since I started going on job interviews. (And boy, do I need some new clothes. I dropped four sizes during my divorce and just about everything in my closet would either fall right off of me or swallow me up.) My boys don't have tons of clothes, and what they do have, are hand-me-downs, came from a resale shop, Target, or Meijer. I can't remember the last time I set foot in the mall.

I have no intention of becoming one of the casualties, and I'm thankful that my life experiences have led me to understand a little bit about how it happens. I'm not afraid to buckle down and do what it takes to maintain my 'meager' (by some standards) way of life, all the while thinking I could just about be the richest woman on the planet. Oh, I've got big plans for the future, don't get me wrong. And no, I don't know exactly how I'm going to bring them to fruition.

But let me put it this way...I know how I'm not going to do it.

Where were you?

What were you doing? How did you learn of it? And what did you feel?

It's hard to believe it's already been six years since our sense of security...or rather, our

complacency...was destroyed. Destroyed with the carefully-arranged tons of concrete and metal that represented all that this country stands for. Free trade, fair commerce, prosperity, hard work.

The RK was a sweet little four-year-old. The IB was still far off in my future. I was a women's Bible study facilitator for a group that met at church on Friday mornings, and I had just sat down at the dining room table to play catch-up on the lesson that I had to lead discussion about that following Friday. The RK was sitting comfortably on the couch watching PBS. I remember this was the first week of the Bible study, and I was mad at myself for already letting myself get behind.

Around 9:00 AM, my phone rings. It's my mom.

"Hi Mom! What's going on?"

"Are you watching the news?"

"No, of course not! [The RK] has reign over the TV, of course."

"Turn on the news...it's just terrible..."

So I go and commandeer the TV remote, turning on the Today show. The second plane had just hit the south tower of the World Trade Center. Once I overcame the immense shock, realizing this was actually happening, the first words out of my mouth to my mom were, "I bet this was the work of Osama bin Laden."

She said, "Who?"

I reminded her of the various attacks abroad that had killed Americans...the Khobar Towers, the embassies in Kenya & Tanzania, the U.S.S. Cole. He was credited with all those.

Mom and I stayed on the phone for a little while longer, watching the horror unfold on our TV screens. Then I decided I better call the IX. I discover that my cell service is having issues, all the way over in Michigan. I finally get through to my husband, and he immediately starts telling me about how there's no power at work, and he thinks they're about to get the day off. Somehow I interject to tell him what has happened.

I sit there, staring at the TV in disbelief, not exactly knowing what to do. I have moments of sobbing, moments of inspiration. And the RK doesn't quite know what to make of me. He had never seen me behave in such ways. That freaked him out more than what he was watching with me on TV. After all, what he was watching was something we all see on TV everyday. But up until this point, it was always in movies, TV shows...works of fiction.

If you ask him what he remembers of that day, that's it. Not the attack itself, but his mommy's reaction.

I remember how there was such hope that there could be survivors amidst all that rubble. Desperately wanting to do something to help, anything, I put the RK in the car and drove to our local Red Cross office, hoping to donate blood. It was closed, but I was later able to make an appointment for the next day. There was another guy who got there the same time I did, with the same thing in mind. I wonder how many more people drove over there that day with the same thing in mind.

I've never been able to successfully donate blood. But given the circumstances, I was determined. The next morning, I ate a good breakfast beforehand, and went to try to contribute in some small way. But alas, I still wasn't able to fill a full pint bag before I started breaking out in a cold sweat, hearing the high-pitched hum in my ears, sparkly spots before my eyes. I'm still not sure if that's a physical or psychological response...but whatever it is, it makes me mad.

Afterwards, in the cookie-and-juice area, I just cried. Cried over my failure. Cried for perhaps that one person who I could've helped save by sharing my blood. Just cried.

In the coming days, we'd learn that such a need for blood, extra emergency workers, medical personnel, equipment, etc., would not be needed after all. If I remember correctly, something like only six survivors were pulled from that rubble? Whatever it was, the number definitely wasn't more than just two digits.

I remember a few days after that, when I was having dinner with my family, the ABC evening news with Peter Jennings was on the TV. And the last shot of the news was from London. It was tape shot at Buckingham Palace, where the royal band played the Star-Spangled Banner. When it was over, it cut back to Peter Jennings, a Canadian, mind you, who was noticeably choked up. As was I.

So now it's six years later. I'm a mom of two now. And divorced. I have my own house. Peter Jennings is no longer with us. We still haven't caught the evil bastard that did this to us. But life has gone on. Things are different now, but slowly, this country has fallen into a new state of normal, including the family members of those that perished that day.

So now, I offer my best wishes to the almost 3000 different groups of families and friends whose lives were turned upside-down on this date six years ago. You all are in my thoughts today, and most definitely my prayers. I hope today isn't too painful for you, and I hope your lives are so blessed.

So that's my personal story. I'd love to hear yours, if you're willing to share it. What are the memories that stick out the most in your mind from that day, and how has your life changed these past six years?

Burden? What burden?

The RK just got to bed. After 11:00. But for a pretty good reason, I think. The Diary of Anne Frank came on Turner Classic Movies, and I was suprised when he actually showed interest in watching it with me.

My first year experiencing public school, the seventh grade, we were assigned to read Anne Frank's diary. And I remember watching the movie over a period of days in English class, as well. And it affected me down the core of my soul. I just couldn't fathom going through what this young girl, not much older than I was, got through that time she wrote her diary.

To live in America is to be blessed. No one alive today has borne witness to war fought on our homeland. We are indeed quite priveledged. To live anywhere in Europe during World War II meant to live life day to day in fear. Terror. And today, the fear is torturing hearts of those in the Middle East.

But never here. We are so blessed.

Why? Why are we so lucky? What did we do to deserve living our lives in such peace and calm? And how has it become so easy to take for granted?

I was born during a war fought thousands of miles away. I graduated high school during a war being fought thousands of miles away. And as I type this, part II of this previous war I just mentioned is being fought.

And the only direct affect it has on my day to day life is when I watch the news or read about the latest car bombs, or suicide bombers, or the updated tally of American servicemen killed. But the end credits roll, I fold up the newspaper, I close my laptop, and my mind effortlessly moves on to other things...what, out of the relative multitude of choices I have sitting in my pantry or my freezer (which consistently has power, by the way) shall I fix for dinner? Why won't my grass turn green? Uh oh...the IB's into the cat food again. Oh no, the gas prices are pushing $3/gallon again.

Please.

Why am I so lucky to live such a life, and millions of my fellow members of the human race aren't? Is it really just luck of the draw? I came into existence in the USA, while some other 34-year-old woman who is mourning the loss of her innocent children, or her husband, or is now learning to do life with a missing appendage...is doing so just because she happened to come into existence in Iraq? Or Afghanistan? Or Darfur?

And how is it that we have become so complacent?

None of us deserve the charmed lives we lead. It all comes down to luck of location.

I have a bit of a weird confession to make. Bear with me....

I'm so glad I experienced 9/11. I'm not glad it happened, but I'm glad to have witnessed it. My generation was the epitome of complacency and entitlement before that day. We had lived in relative luxury compared to the majority of the rest of the world. And that day was our wake-up call. It woke us all up, but only briefly, I think. Just a mere six years after the fact, we've already fallen right back into the sleep of entitlement again. Oh, how this country is divided over the war in Iraq. And sadly, the division is way far from being down the middle...in the wrong direction.

And really...why was it so shocking and horrifying to us? I mean, yeah, it's horrible that we lost almost 3000 people that day, but in so many other locations on this earth, that's everyday. How is that we don't give these fellow humans a few moments of our attention, but when it happens to us, we get mad? Why aren't we getting mad for them? When it comes down to it, we're no better than they are. We have two arms and two legs just like they do. We have hearts...that break. So do they. We laugh, we cry. They do as well. Who's getting mad for their horrific and senseless deaths?

Here's what I think: Politics aside, if there's anything we can do in our power, or anything we can share with our brothers and sisters in countries that don't have the rights to life, liberty & the pursuit of happiness, it's our duty to do whatever we can to help them acquire such lives of their own. How in the world can these noisy people get away with trying to convince anyone who will listen that it's OK to stand by and let fellow humans suffer through such horrific and unimaginable persecution? Our sons and daughters are dying for a lost cause...well, so are Iraqi sons and daughters...civilians. They're just innocent victims of that location curse. And we should just let it happen? God bless those servicemen who are risking their lives, and sadly, giving their lives as well, to try to create a way of life in Iraq that they have already been blessed with. They have willingly decided to give up that way of life here in the United States to go fight for this. They are indeed heroes.

I want to be a hero as well. Not one that is cheered and applauded...but one who quietly makes a difference. I've done nothing to deserve this life of luxury I lead. And all those in this world who are living in abject poverty and political persecution have done nothing to deserve their way of life, either. I feel overwhelmed thinking about how I could contribute, but I know that God will lead me. And I hope I feel led into more than just donating money. While necessary, and a huge sacrifice in its own right, giving money is still so detached and....well, easy. I mean really...what am I really gaining from sitting on my comfy couch with a nice cold drink by my side as I sign a check? What am I really giving of myself when I make the stroll down to the mailbox and raise the little flag? I want to bear first-hand witness to change that I helped create. And for me, giving money just won't cut it.

It is such a shame that Anne Frank couldn't live to see the impact that her little red-checked diary made on the entire world. But then again, would it have been such an impact if she had survived the concentration camp? Whatever the case, it's comforting to know that what appear to be such senseless deaths can inspire and create movements of good in their wake. As long as those of us left behind to witness it don't harden ourselves to it.