Batman Interrupted

Am sure everybody has heard by now of the crazy (genius?) kid who shot up the theater at the Aurora Mall today.   His apartment house is five blocks due East of us, and there are fears that it's wired with a number of sophisticated explosive devices.

Just before he lawyered up, the suspect apparently told the lawmen that he had booby-trapped his apartment on the third floor.  To add weight to his claim, a tenant who lives directly below him enlightened the authorities further.  At around midnight, she was awakened to insanely loud music coming from the unit above.  She went upstairs and banged on his door, not getting a response.  Of course her neighbor wasn’t there, since he’d gone to the movies.  She put her ear to the door, and as she did so, it seemed like it moved a little as if it was slightly ajar.  She thought about pushing it open, but then thought better of it (possibly gaining an everlasting respect for intuition).  She tried to report the issue to police, but they told her that every unit was tied up with an emergency.  You bet your ass they were.  Then, at 1:00 am, the music stopped.

Armed with this information, the FBI or the Swat team or the Bomb Squad were especially cautious.  They knew better than to kick the door down.  So a ladder was brought in with a cherry picker whereby they could use small cameras to look inside.  There, they observed large numbers of jars sitting on the floors, filled with a clear liquid, each of them next to boxes of what appeared to be ammunition.  Wires were running all over the place from jar to box to jar and so on.  Elaborate.  Maybe, just maybe, he is a Joker with a dark sense of humor, and it’s only 7Up and speaker wire.

But I don’t think so.

I mean, how freakin’ diabolical is that?  If the jars and wires and stuff are for real, and if the suspect's neighbor had opened the door, the cops would have been occupied with an apartment building disaster.  Immediately afterward, they would get a call regarding the Theater massacre.  Or they might just have been summoned to both events at the same time.  What if, what if.  Hypothetical, sinister shit, huh?

Earlier today, we were taking Wingman’s dad on an errand, and I had my trusty little point and shoot with me.  Unfortunately, we were driving while I was taking most of these photos.  Therefore, this was the only shot I was able to get of the cherry-picker they used to spy into the apartment.

There were a number of confabs among various authorities, and cameramen (?).

The sound of choppers woke Wingman up at 3:00 am, and it hasn't stopped all day.  Not just police, media, and hospital choppers, but Buckley Airbase seems to be in the act with Huey's, Blackhawks, Chinooks, Harriers (not really, I no longer can tell one chopper from another, and I’m sure they quit making Harriers).  They are huge and dark and loud.  And they are hovering - thok thok thok thok - earplugs tonight for sure.

Wingman walked down there, and saw a reporter lady interviewing a guy who claimed to have had beers with our alleged shooter at The Zephyr Lounge a couple of nights ago.  Wingman suggested to the media lady that if he had her job, he’d trot down Colfax to the Zephyr, get a tall cool drink (it's currently 100º in Aurora), and chat up the patrons and the bartender.  Human interest stuff if nothing else.  She was all kinds of grateful, and thought it was a great idea.  Of course, a very fine looking reporter lady walking down Colfax in a short skirt and spike heels might be mistaken for another kind of professional.  So that wasn’t very nice of Wingman.

The various FBI teams or Swat Teams or Bomb Squad teams have taken over the little Latino bar and parking lot directly across the street from the apartment building.  Base ops, you know.  They’ve also evacuated several buildings in the area.

We initially heard that, at 6:00 pm, the authorities would be closing a major street that runs by the building.  They would then send in a robot to either remove or detonate the jars and boxes and wires. That sounds like a whole shitload of explosives to me.

Several people wanted to come to our place this evening for the festivities.  A big day for Kodak moments, and I was sure the whole gang would be walking down there to get as close as possible to the action.  There's no place close to park, and there's no way this lily liver is going to attempt walking that far.  Remember - 100º or thereabouts.

I was distressed at the idea of missing a chance for more photos, but then I heard that they’d decided instead to close the street sometime over the weekend.  Good thinking; Friday, rush hour, traffic streaming out of the massive medical center.  Lookie loos all over the place.  Saturday is way better.  Suspected shooter's apartment building shows just above the fire truck.  Wingman's rear-view mirror ornaments comprise that weird crap in the center.

Swat boy there looks thoroughly prepared.  I think he's eating CornNuts.  Apartment building is the one with the sign on it.  Recently remodeled to attract med students at University of Colorado Hospital (the suspect's recent Alma Mater).  Whoo boy.  All those people are currently hanging out elsewhere.

We were across the street for both of the above photos, and I zoomed in for this one.  Used my new little Canon PowerShot ELPH pocket camera.  Canon rules.  But I digress.
 

And here’s a cameraman outside one of ghetto-type places soon to be remodeled for housing more med students.  Free rent?  Wonder if there’s a vacancy.

Everyone will know how this all shakes out tomorrow or Sunday, and if the ending turns out to be anticlimactic and non-photo-worthy, I won’t talk about it anymore.  And so much the better.

Besides, I might miss something else while I'm hunched over the laptop.


RAM

Grace

Last summer, less than a month before I received my liver transplant, an event took place that overshadowed my illusion that it’s all about me.

Dad called us around 7:30 pm on August 15, and said, “I don’t think Edie’s breathing.”  Wingman’s mom, Edie, had been slipping into dementia over the previous four or five years.  By the time she passed, she was unable to do anything for herself and no longer recognized family members.  She was in a nightmare world that was frightening and painful.  Though unexpected, we knew her passing was a blessed release.

When Wingman and I got married (eloped), Edie welcomed me with open arms.  She was strong, she was devoted, and she was selfless.  She and I were fully comfortable with each other from the time we met.  Knowing looks, winks, we had it all going.

Edie had amazing eyes - like blue ice.

I spent many hours with the grieving family.  None of them in so much grief as Dad. Through grace, my stamina went into high gear, and I was able to pitch in effectively.  I researched funeral homes and helped with arrangements.

Prior to the funeral, I spent several days putting together a slide show with Polish Catholic hymns and photos of Edie.  Despite the encephalopathy (foggy brain), I intuited my way through a process I’d never done before and produced a sweet little tribute.  Bless you Steve Jobs, wherever you are.  I put the laptop on a table, hooked up speakers, and let the slideshow run at a low volume throughout the viewing.  The family was touched by it, and I knew the guidance I followed was the right thing when I saw those healing tears.

“I” did not do these things.  This temple in which my soul was dwelling ought to have been parked in the shop, awaiting a new part.  It was God’s lila (the enchanted dance of existence, the divine play), that enabled me to be there for my family. I was gifted with everything I needed in order to be of service, acting pretty much on auto-pilot.

I was self-conscious about my appearance.  I’d gotten down to 91 pounds, and had nothing especially appropriate or stylish to wear that didn’t look like a tent on a stick.  So I donned my nicest shirt and the only pants that weren’t likely to drop past my hips and I sallied forth.  I was the most yellow person there.  Like that cheap tanning lotion that turns the skin orange, yet so evenly applied you'd swear it was the real thing.

Wingman’s sister and her husband live in another city and, because of various (and quite valid) issues stemming from her upbringing at the feet of Dad's parenting style, she hadn’t spent as much time with Mom as she would have liked.

In the meantime, trouble had been brewing over Wingman's exasperation at his sister for not being as helpful as he thought she should be.  Wingman always has too much on his plate, and it’s difficult to be of help to him, and that’s all I’ll say.  The last three to four years, every visit has been a growing clusterfuck of blame and misunderstandings, with Wingman ultimately chasing his sister away.  She in tears, vowing never to come back.  Later, there would be phone conversations and vague apologies and a temporary truce would be forged.  After an especially unsettling clash a few months prior to Edie’s death, it didn't appear possible that anything could ever be salvaged.  I love Wingman's sister.  I had been denied her company, and I was pissed.

Providence.  I like that word.  It’s such a befitting term for what happened next.

Edie's deep desire for peace among her kids came about through her passing.  At the funeral, this proud, Polish family who seemed to prefer altercations to expressions of affection, suddenly had no Mama to remind them how important those things are.  And they clung to one another in grief. They shed all awkwardness, embracing and weeping together, opening their hearts with words of contrition, appreciation, and love.

It was the most tangible evidence of God at work that this little farm girl ever beheld. I gained new freedoms as well.  My long-held attitude of hostility toward Dad had prevented any impulse to look past the image I kept  of him.  At the viewing, Dad was pacing and speaking to Edie as she lay in the casket.  He kept saying, "I've never been here before.  I don't know how to do this."

I've never been here before.  Such a direct and perfect assessment of his grief.  This was the first time I’d seen the humanity in him that I’d been overlooking.  And I went, “shit yeah, may as well look for other things about this dude that I can love.”  Once the veil was lifted, I was shown a whole other guy.  What can I say?  He’s my pal.

After the funeral service, as we were all getting into our vehicles to leave the cemetery, an enormous hawk began circling above us.  We were in three vehicles driving back, and this bird stayed with us for several miles.  Each of us shared similar thoughts - Edie's spirit flying free, but always with us.

We are changed for the better.

The One and Only

RAM