Have we forgotten?

In February of 2019, I was fortunate enough to fly to New York City for a work trip. I admittedly had trepidations prior to my visit, which is really unlike me when I travel. I had never been to a city this large and the vastness of it all intimidated me a bit. While I’ve lived in a few large cities, I’m really more of a country girl and prefer the wide open spaces. I suppose I also watch too many crime shows that take place in NYC and was nervous I’d get mugged or worse while walking around by myself. New Yorkers are also not portrayed in the nicest ways so I went with preconceived notions running around in my head.

View from my hotel room at the Millennium Hilton New York One UN Plaza.

The trip was magical, especially for an amateur photographer. I clocked over 30 miles on my Fitbit between appointments and, after my work day was done, I took hundreds of pictures with my Nikon and my cell phone. I didn’t want to miss anything. I wanted to experience it all.

While I would have loved to see a Broadway show, the one thing I knew I had to experience when I arrived in the city happened on my last day.

On February 7, 2019, a little before dusk, I took an Uber two miles to the memorial site and museum dedicated to those who lost their lives at the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001. When I arrived, I walked around the dedication to those lost on that horrific day 20 years ago. Decisions made by those trapped due to the location of the airplanes flying into the buildings were even more impactful when I saw the vastness of the area and could see for myself the height of the adjacent One World Trade Center next door to the memorial. It was apparent for me that I was standing not only on a memorial site but also on an unconventional cemetery dedicated to 2,977 individuals, some who died there and others who lost their lives in Shanksville, PA, and Washington, D.C.

When I entered the 9/11 Museum, I saw the familiar remnants of the building and reminders of that day. The steel beams, the staircase, and the remains of the Ladder 3 Fire Truck left an image in my mind I will not soon forget.

Seeing the smiling faces of those lost that day through photos on a seemingly never-ending wall and hearing the recordings of their voices from messages left on phones or answering machines, struck me with a grief I was not prepared for and I had the desire to run away. I didn’t KNOW these people but I DID know them as my fellow American citizens and people from across the globe who innocently started their day that quickly ended in unforeseen tragedy and loss.

When you’re young and learning about history in school, you tend to read the few paragraphs in your assigned text book and move on without much feeling. I’m sure I was that way when I learned about World War One, the holocaust, and the Vietnam War. Being married to a Vietnam Veteran for 22 years opened my eyes to the true impact on someone who lived it. The same can be said for those in New York City, Washington, D.C., and Shanksville, Pennsylvania, who were there and saw things unfold before their eyes. I only saw it on the screen and know the impact it had on me.

Twenty years later, many people seem to have the desire to sweep that tragic day under the rug, but I believe it is imperative we continue to honor this day, those lost, and those who will suffer for years to come. In the words of Spanish philosopher George Santayana, “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it,” which was later paraphrased by former British Prime Minister Winston Churchill, “Those who fail to learn from history are condemned to repeat it.”

So many young people living today have no memory of that time, as they were very young or they were not yet born and the anniversary of 9/11 is the only time they learn of the tragedies of that fateful day in America. People read the names, share the stories of their own loved ones, and bells are rung to signify the times of those four horrible incidents in our history, when planes were taken over by terrorists hell-bent on destroying the U.S.A. A field in the Pennsylvania countryside memorializes the heroes who lost their lives while bravely taking on these evil people, so that more tragedy did not take place in our nation’s capital.

For those of you who CAN remember, do you recollect that day? What about September 12? We seemed to all become ONE America. Certainly, flying an American flag in our front yards was an easy way to show our patriotism, but we did it. We did it because we were unsure what else to do. Many young people enlisted, many wrote songs, and still others vowed to not take their lives for granted and do good things.

Sadly, I have not felt that we are acting like it. I have seen, read, and heard more divided conversations today than I can remember in my 57 years on this earth. We are BETTER than this but we seem to have a my way or the highway mentality. I ask you, where does that get you?

Years ago, I took the Stephen Covey course, The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People. One of those habits stands out for me today. It is seek first to understand, then to be understood. We all fall short of that philosophy, but I beckon us to do better, to be better. Because we disagree on a topic doesn’t mean one side is wrong and the other side is right. Seldom are things black and white. We all have life events that affect our thinking. Putting everyone in the same category because we choose to do something or not to do something is wrong and unfair, in my humble opinion.

Today, I am struggling with people putting me in a specific category who know nothing about my situation. Sadly, I haven’t said anything to those individuals because I have seen their responses on social media about similar topics and I truly believe they will judge me because they are not willing to listen to my side of the story, so I remain quiet.

A few years ago, I heard former Mayor Rudy Giuliani say, “America was at its best that day.” While I know we can’t always stop tragedies like the one that happened two decades ago on what started out as a beautiful September morning, we can and should come together as Americans without having to rely on a tragedy to make it so.

One of the photos I took in Central Park in New York City struck me that day and is a continued reminder for me of the tragedies that fell upon our country 20 years ago. I have no idea who the gentleman was that is standing with his back to me on a rock in the park, but seeing him look towards the skyline, I wondered who stood there on September 11, 2001, and what were they thinking?

I pray it doesn’t take another incident like 9/11 to remind us of how little time we have on this earth. I have said this before and I try to make it my mantra for life. “This is the only life we’re blessed to have. I want to get out and explore and know I really lived.”

I encourage you to live your dash. I remind you to never forget.

Sticking with Your Strengths – A Christmas Story

My name is Diann Bayes and I am NOT a crafter.

If you’ve followed any of my blogs, you know I love to shoot photography and share sunrises, sunsets, and photos of things I find to be beautiful that I capture through my camera lens. Many of my friends have commented on how much they love my photos.

Don’t look too close.

I hesitate to tell this story but feel it is important I share it.

I’ll preface it with a tale from December 2018 when I bought a bow maker that gave you step-by-step instructions on how to turn ribbon into a beautiful bow for your Christmas wreath. I failed so dismally then, my husband made one in his wood shop out of sympathy for my lack of mental capacity to figure it out on my own. One would think I would have learned, but no.

Today, I decided to work on the lovely and thoughtful gift my friend, Lori Jo Thomas, gave me for Christmas recently, a Wondershop gingerbread kit that looks like a vintage camper, the kind I want to own some day.

I was so excited to see the cuteness that was inside the box awaiting me.

This afternoon, I pulled out the contents of the box, which included the perfectly formed gingerbread cutouts that made up the camper, white and black icing, a bag of gumdrops, a bag of cute little candy light decorations, and cardboard cutouts of Santa, a tree, and a grill. I was disappointed that the red icing listed on the box wasn’t there, but thought this is not a problem. I’ll use the black icing and the bag of white concrete icing and make it work. How hard could it be?

Before I got started, I reviewed the photo on the box. Being a huge fan of cooking shows, I thought rather than use the bag of icing that came with the kit, I would transfer it to a ziplock bag and carefully snip the edge like I know Duff Goldman, The Barefoot Contessa Ina Garten and Martha Stewart could do in their sleep, if they didn’t have a piping bag. I would then effortlessly pipe beautiful straight lines like the picture on the box shows.

I carefully warmed up the icing by massaging the bag, like the instructions suggest. Okay, they don’t use the word massage, but since that’s what it feels like you’re doing, I’m going with that description, no matter now wrong it sounds. I then fed the now warm and softened icing into the Ziploc freezer bag. I pushed all the icing to one corner, like EmmyMade would do, and carefully snipped off a corner. When icing the sides together, I had no real issues except that a few bigger chunks of icing came out of the bag and caused a bit of a calking issue. I thought I could pull it off as a rustic look. All good.

Once the structure was all “glued” together, I proceeded to the rooftop. Little did I realize the particular bag I used was described as a “stand-up bag for easy fill” so I didn’t know at the time I’d cut two little corners instead of one. Halfway through my first roof line, the icing blew out like panty hose packed into too heavy thighs. (Not that I’d know anything about that.) Rather than gorgeous icing lines, I got half-inch schmears like I was trying to put cream cheese on a bagel instead of piping icing on a rooftop. No sweat, I thought. I can clean this up. There’s no way, Duff, Martha, Ina, and Emmy got it in one take every time.

After attempting to clean up the mess that was my rooftop icing, I started on the gumdrop decorations. You’ll notice on my rooftop I only included the red ones. That’s because the OCD in me kicked in when I saw I couldn’t make a consistent row of matching gum drops unless I used all red. So I ate a green and orange one I had originally affixed on the roof, as they no longer made it into my color scheme, which apparently, I decided at that instance, was red.

I then started on the front of the camper and piped black icing around the windows and door, followed by a strand of icing that looked like the electrical for Christmas lights that were being hung. Once again, the OCD kicked in and I had to sort the lights in color order. By the time I had them separated out of the bag, (which when I opened it the first time, little candy lights flew all over the table and floor), the black icing was almost dry so I had to pipe even more black icing in order for them to stick. Of course, I ended up placing the wrong colors so had to yank those lights off the RV and replace them. Rather than throw the used candy lights back to be used again, I ate those, too, black icing and all. At one point, I looked like I’d been sucking on a ballpoint pen or brushing my teeth with charcoal.

Not seeing enough color in my decoration options and giving up my original all red thoughts, I went to the cupboard and found mini M&M’s and Reese’s Pieces. Knowing my husband would never forgive me for gluing his favorite peanut butter candies on something neither of us would be eating later, I went with the minis.

After OCDing my way through the rest of the decorations and the tires on the front of the camper, I got the the cardboard cutouts and, miraculously, put them together with zero incidents. That, in itself, is a Christmas miracle!

I then surveyed my work with no holiday fanfare. I didn’t immediately get the holiday spirit and hear the crooning sounds of Mel Torme or the harmonies of Pentatonix ringing in my ear. I got nothin’, not to be confused with “nuttin” from the ear-bleeding song “Nuttin’ for Christmas.”

My husband came in from working in the garage and couldn’t stop laughing. I noted no sympathy in his hysterics. Being the man that he is, he immediately took in the cookie “vehicle” right down to the tires and gumdrop hubcaps, and without missing a beat asked, “Are those nipples?”

Once he straightened up from bending over laughing so hard that he finally could catch his breath and wipe the tears from his face, he said through continued snickers, “Honey, you can buy stuff and put it around the house and make it look real nice, but you are not a crafter.”

I sit here eating the last of the gum drops that should have made it on the camper as I write this. I felt it was kinder that they make their way into the gastric juices of my stomach rather than be sacrificial lambs to the disaster that is this gingerbread arrangement.

As I write this, I stare at the remnants of the finished work that is my 2020 Holiday Gingerbread Camper. Notice I added 2020, since I believe I can chalk almost everything up to this year from, well, you know, rather that accept the simple fact that I have limited to no crafting ability.

To my friend, Lori Jo. You are such a thoughtful person. I hope you didn’t spend a lot of money and I really hope you weren’t expecting too much. Merry Christmas!

Lesson learned. Stick with your strengths, especially during the holidays!

P.S. – The day after I wrote this blog and to add insult to injury, my husband decided to take on the Christmas Story gingerbread house I had purchased to make, as well. I don’t know what he’s trying to prove but… whatever. So, my dear reader friends, who I know love to read my blogs and won’t turn on me, it’s up to you to vote on your favorite. Please leave them in a comment. Seasons greetings!

The Way I See It – Election 2020

The following have been my Presidents, whether I voted for them or not, since I was of legal age to vote.

President Ronald Reagan (R)
President George H.W. Bush (R)
President Bill Clinton (D)
President George W. Bush (R)
President Barack Obama (D)
President Donald Trump (R)
President ??? (R or D)

I don’t know what the outcome of this year’s vote will be, but whoever it is, they will be my President.

That said, because I voted, I have the RIGHT to disagree with how they are running our country. I have the RIGHT to stand up when I disagree. I have the RIGHT to protest when I disagree.

I do not have the RIGHT to loot, threaten, or seek out violence against others because they voted differently. I do not have the RIGHT to threaten them or damage their property. I do not have the RIGHT to threaten my elected officials.

YOU have the RIGHT to disagree with me…because we live in the United States of America, no matter now divided the vote.

I will STILL respect the office of the President, even if I DON’T respect who’s sitting in the seat.

That is all!

If you must criticize, be constructive… not mean.

When I was in high school and college, I attended events where I competed in public speaking with a focus on pros, poetry, one-act play, and dramatic readings. As a teenager and young adult, it was difficult to receive written critiques stating areas of improvement I needed to make with my presentations. Though I was not confident in many areas of my life, I believed I was good at this and how dare someone correct me. I was in my element. One of my instructors shared with me why it was important, and I should take the constructive criticism to heart so that I could learn and improve. While it was a bitter pill to swallow for my young mind at the time, I discovered my teacher was correct, as were my critics. I reviewed their comments and worked to better my presentations in order to move forward on my academic path.

Fast forward almost four decades later where I work to promote to visitors in the hopes they will choose to come to my city. I share the quality of life message so people can see what a great place my community is to visit, work, and live. Forty years later I am still receiving criticism for the job I’m doing. However, much of it seems to be more mean than constructive.

For example, I took the photo above yesterday afternoon during a noon walk along the Concho River by my office. As an amateur photographer, I saw the clouds from my window and knew the reflections off the water would be incredible, so I snapped the photo with my cell phone. This is the original photo. NOT enhanced.

I admit I enhanced the photo I shared on social media, but only slightly. I increased the vibrant color because I didn’t think my cell phone captured the true colors I saw. I’ve done a comparison below to show the difference. The photo on the top is my original. The one below has the color enhancement. It was then shared on social media channels. 

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I recognize I could have left the photo alone and just posted the original, but I didn’t. The reaction? Overwhelmingly, people stated they loved it, loved our city, and loved living here. It was liked, loved, and shared by many and that continues to happen as of this writing.

While the positive comments were wonderful, much like my time as a teenager, I focused on the criticisms that included the following: “Holy Editing,” “Smoke and Mirrors,” and “The water never looks like this picture.”

Is the water blue? No. Again, my photographer’s eye knew the clouds would reflect off the water as would the blue sky. The reflective capture was what I was after.

The picture below was taken by me with my cell phone on a cloudless day. To me, it is still beautiful. I have shared many photos much like the bottom one before only to get similarly critical comments.

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The point of this post is to say criticism, while not always welcomed, is important. However, criticism with no construction around it, only the desire to complain about things on social media without offering a solution to the problem is not helpful. Social media has opened the door to more and more of this criticizing nature.

Having lived in 20 different cities and towns in my life, some places for only a few shorts months due to relocation and waiting to move into a permanent home, I’ve seen this consistently in many of these communities. Whether it was a letter to the editor, a public demonstration, or a social media post, no solution was offered, just criticism.

I jokingly said to a friend this morning that when I read these comments, I want to ask the person (but I don’t), “If you are being held hostage and unable to leave this town, please let us know so we can send someone in to rescue you so you can get away.”

What started out as an innocent photo of the beauty of the day turned into a moment for me to think about my life and the life lessons I have learned. To those who consistently feel the need to criticize the community in which you live, I make this suggestion. If you don’t have a solution to the problem, please consider refraining from your criticisms. If you feel your town isn’t clean enough, get a group of people together along with trash bags and start picking up garbage. If your taxes are too high, help find a way to improve your community so that businesses will move there and help relieve your tax burden. If you don’t like the leadership in your community, exercise your right to vote. And if none of those solutions works for you, explore other options.

The United States is large. According to World Population Review, as of 2018, there are 19,495 incorporated cities, towns, and villages in the United States. If you don’t find a good fit in the U.S., there are always other countries. This is the only life we get on this earth. Why choose to be miserable, unhappy, and critical all the time? Find some place where you can enjoy the life you have. But remember this phrase published in The Kansas Farmer, February 1917:

Some people are never satisfied anywhere. The grass always looks a little greener on the other side of the fence.

Whether you go or stay, feel free to criticize but also offer solutions to improve your life, the life of your neighbors, and the vibrancy and success of your community. 

There’s Always Room for Hope

This morning as my husband and were drinking our coffee while mindlessly listening to the latest updates regarding COVID 19, we had a brief discussion of what items we might need from the grocery store. He had been a few days ago, along with other seniors who had the good fortune to go into the stores earlier than others.

I mentioned we could use some more oatmeal. His simple five-word comment threw me for a loop, “They were out of oats.” His statement was simply matter of fact. No grandiose delivery. No academy award winning moment. Just a simple phrase.

Sitting at my work computer at home during my self-quarantining because of international flights almost two weeks ago, I’ve continually read above COVID 19 and its rapid spread across our world. By the way, I have had no symptoms. Two months ago, I admittedly was not concerned. I am not too proud to say that, but I have no doubt others will deny their lack of concern so as not to be accused of being part of the problem rather than the solution.

How quickly things change.

Two weeks ago when I was working with other colleagues to market to Canadian media to promote travel to Texas, my colleagues and I turned from marketing to somewhat jokingly discussing options of how we could get home should they cancel flights. An epic road trip in a rental van was our solution, should we need to make a quick decision if flights cancelled. There’s nothing like the possibility of being stuck in another country to bring you back to reality pretty quickly, especially when you are told daily in emails that events in your community are being cancelled. We all made it home on our flights with no real issues, at least so far, and returned to our towns and cities to face our new reality.

Which brings me back to this morning…

In my life, I’ve seen gas shortages, weather catastrophes, and 9/11. All were frightening in their own way at the time, particularly the latter. While I felt sick for those affected, these events always felt at arm’s length. It was like looking into a snow globe and watching someone else’s reality take place. Not today.

A simple five-word phrase this morning over coffee, hit me in the face. “They were out of oats.” That phrase could have just as easily been, “They were out of disinfectant,” “They were out of apples.”

In my life, I’ve taken for granted something as simple as having oats for breakfast and believing it wouldn’t be an issue. What grocery store runs out of oats? In our current reality, ours does and so do other stores across the nation. It’s surreal.

It’s surreal that within just a few weeks, we can no longer dine in restaurants, only get takeout or order delivery. And, hopefully, people will do that. Events can no longer be held. Meetings of 10 or more are prohibited. Las Vegas hotels are closed for the first time since they opened. Let that sink in.

The industry I’ve loved and worked in for nearly 25 years is bleeding out. Colleagues are losing jobs. Housekeepers and wait staff are trying to figure out how to keep a roof over their heads, feed their children, and pay their utilities. Airports are empty. Vacations have stopped. Business people are no longer taking meetings. Everything that “starts with a visit” is at a standstill.

I write this out of my own nervousness but also to put the words on paper so that I can get them out of my head. I need to focus on being a productive person and help my industry, rather than allow the negative thoughts to consume me. I thought of one of my favorite quotes by Admiral Jim Stockdale this morning.

“You must never confuse faith that you will prevail in the end — which you can never afford to lose — with the discipline to confront the most brutal facts of your current reality, whatever they might be.”
― Jim Stockdale

As I recognize we may be out of oats today, people may have lost jobs today, the world looks like a scary place today, I also know this is our current reality. It is not permanent. We WILL survive this after we get through our five stages of grief – denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. That will involve tears, fear, laughter, prayer, and hope. No matter how full we are with our thoughts, there’s always room for hope. Hope is the jello of feelings. Yes, I wrote that. Don’t judge me right now. 🙂

So today, I work from my makeshift desk, looking out the window as the sun comes up. The mesquite trees are leafing out and the old timers would say there’s no longer going to be a freeze, meaning the temperatures will get warmer and people will want to breathe the fresh, warm air. I see the first hummingbird of the season, flittering around the multiple feeders to drink the sweet nectar and, hopefully, bring back friends to join it. Life is still good. Hope is in the air!