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Honoring Matthew Horning
Sep 10th
This is the fourth year that I’ve written about Matthew Horning on 9/11. I think of him often throughout the year, and all the more as the anniversary of the attacks approaches. I encourage you to go back and read my original tribute post, to learn some of the details about him.
Matthew Horning was at work on the 95th floor of the North Tower of the World Trade Center on 9/11/01. He was a database administrator for Marsh and McLennan, beginning his morning, making a living. He was 26 years old, and was about to propose to his beautiful girlfriend, Maura. Those cowards stole his life and his future. They stole a lifetime of dreams, plans, and memories.
So much has changed in the world since Matthew was murdered, but that day is forever seared into the American memory. People have debated the events… who was responsible, who wasn’t involved, and what we should do about it. We’ve fought wars, given opinions on radio talk shows and made films. The memory of 9/11 has been the catalyst for military and firefighting careers. “Terrorism” is a part of even children’s vocabularies. September 11th has changed America forever.
As I think of the best way to honor Matthew, I think my friend Joy said it best in a blog comment four years ago:
“… As our lives go on and the tributes end, may we pick up the mantle of freedom and not impose it on others, but live it out in our daily lives. May we see the unseen, may we feed the hungry, and clothe the naked, and touch our fellow man with love and hope. Loving one another is the greatest honor we can give those we lost.”
I strive to honor Matthew in this way, by loving others and defending freedom.
Matthew, you are not forgotten.
If a white person wants to look for a ghost, don’t follow. Just sayin.
Mar 18th
Somehow in high school, I had a knack for doing lots of dumb stuff but not getting in trouble. My friends and I were basically “good kids” (church youth group, good students, etc.) but loved to play pranks, clown, push limits and generally get into stuff. Growing up in a small town, there wasn’t much to do, so we had to come up with our own ideas. Sometimes those ideas proved less than wise.
Another thing about small towns is that there are lots of urban legends. We had the Farrenberg Light, Blue Baby, and the Hart Cemetery GLOWING TOMBSTONE… omg111eleventyftwbbq! One late summer night in about 1995ish, several of us decided to go find this glowing tombstone and see if the legend was real.
We were an unlikely group, to say the least. I was driving my grandfather’s brown Ford pickup truck, and had a friend riding with me (I think Mary). Our friend Lorrie was driving a second car, and had April H., Mike S. and his brother Meechie with her. Mary, Lorrie and I are white girls. April is black. Mike is a black guy who grew up in our tiny country town. His brother Meechie, on the other hand, was visiting for the summer from Chicago. Bless his heart, he didn’t know any better but to follow us crazy white people into the woods.
Hart Cemetery is an old Civil War-era graveyard, a little bit north of town out in the middle of nowhere where there are no street lights. It’s one of those places where you have to know where you’re going to get there. I was in the lead as we turned down a dark dirt road and slowly crept to the end. The graves were off to our right, mixed in with gnarly limbs, tall grass and mud. I looked in my rear view mirror and saw one set of headlights. They were still behind me… cool. I kept driving. Suddenly I noticed a second set of headlights. We were being followed!
I turned around at the end of the dirt road and was facing the direction we had come from, back toward the main road, keeping my headlights on. I tried to make out the vehicle. I parked and rolled my window down, and April yelled up to me “I think it’s the Highway Patrol!” She would know. Her dad was a State Trooper. She was right — red and blue lit up the night. “$@#%! Are we in trouble? Is this illegal? Are we supposed to be here?” A little late for that now.
The female patrolman (patrolperson?) shined her flashlight in my eyes and told me to get out of the truck. I was terrified. The others started to get out and she ordered everyone (except me) back in the cars. Great. I was gonna be the one to go to jail, lose my college scholarships, embarrass my family, go to federal pound me in the ass prison… whatever nightmares I could think up. The officer told me to get in her squad car… in the FRONT seat. I thought you always got put in the back if you’re being arrested. Hmm.
She ran my plates and found out the truck wasn’t mine. She asked me who ___ ___ was (my grandfather), so I explained that I’m-borrowing-their-truck-I-swear-and-you-can-call-them-except-they’re-probably-asleep-and-have-you-ever-met-my-parents-they-work-for-the-school-system-I-swear-I’m-not-a-criminal-oh-my-god-seriously-I-didn’t-steal-it…
Finally I got the courage. “Are we in trouble for something?” By this time, the officer had rolled down her window, and our friend’s car was parked beside her about ten feet away, driver’s side to driver’s side. “Well that depends. What are y’all doin out here?” I looked over at Lorrie. “Should I just tell her?” “Sure… I guess.”
“Officer, we’re looking for a glowing tombstone.” She cracked up laughing and said, “Oh, that’s all? I thought you were gonna get drunk and tear up the graves.” She told us all we could get out of the cars. We all stood around talking and joking for a few minutes. She was asking each of us where we were from, and someone let it slip that Meechie was from the ‘hood, visiting his country brother for the summer. “Watch this,” she whispered to me.
She flipped on her siren for a split second. BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOP! Meechie hit the dirt. “F%&K! What the hell? Man, I don’t like the cops!” LMAO! Then came the crazy part. After the laughter died down, she said, “Really, there’s supposed to be a glowing tombstone out here? Let’s look for it!”
I was dumbfounded, relieved, amused and curious all at the same time. I got back into her patrol car and we drove down the paths between the graves looking for the legendary tombstone. We gave up after a couple of minutes, never having found it. She told us to be careful, drove back down the road and left. A few minutes later, we were bored and headed back to town.
We got back to April’s house and told her dad what had happened, and about her making me get into the front seat of the car. He asked us the name of the officer. “You know she’s a lesbian, right? She probably thought you were cute,” he said to me. They gave me a hard time for years.
The moral of the story? White people are crazy. I guess. LOL
Let’s do this
Jan 16th
I think I’m ready to do this again. Been trying to think of an “angle” for my blog resurrection. I’ve always kind of treated this is a kind of diary-open-to-the-world, but I’ve realized lately that I have other things to say. Things that someone might actually want to read. I’ve never before considered things like building a readership or participating in the “blog community,” but I think it’s time.
Reggie Miller looks like the velociraptor.
Jan 15th
So I got bored at work today and had a little fun with Photoshop. Notice the ball in the velociraptor’s little hands. Paws? Claws? Talons? Whatever.
Should I?
Dec 12th
Thinking about resurrecting this blog. I’ve gotten so distracted and… disinterested. But so much has happened that I don’t want to forget. Hmm.
Never underestimate a geek.
Jul 22nd
This is funny. DMX ain’t got nothin’ on this dude. THIS right here is GANGSTA. LOL
(07-15) 19:12 PDT SAN FRANCISCO — The San Francisco computer engineer charged with masterminding a cyber-coup of the city’s network is being paid as he sits in jail, refusing to allow other administrators to get into the system that controls e-mails, law enforcement records and payroll documents, authorities said Tuesday.
Terry Childs, 43, of Pittsburg, who earns a six-figure salary with the city Technology Department, appeared in court Tuesday on four felony counts of computer tampering before being returned to his jail cell. He is being held in lieu of $5 million bail, an amount his lawyer called “crazy.”
Good-deed Doers
Mar 31st
We had a little adventure during the last 24 hours…
Last night, we heard a big dog outside our apartment, snarling and going crazy. DH went out on the balcony and said the neighbor was walking her boxer (really she was just out there with it, talking on her cell phone) and the dog was basically running wild, with something in his mouth. She just kept talking on the phone, saying “stop” to the dog, but not doing anything about it. She and the dog eventually left, and we went to bed.
This morning I was walking the boys and one of them was sniffing something. I walked over closer and saw a little pink wriggly thing. I knew it was some sort of baby mammal. A few feet away, I saw another one. I looked online, and things I read recommended leaving the babies where they were, in case the mother was coming back for them.
I came home at lunch and the babies were still there. Hubby and I went downstairs with a box, an old t-shirt, and a towel. He picked up the first two babies, and as he did, I saw another one. And another one. And another one. The last one was being bitten by ants and didn’t look so good. Poor little guy. We found a total of five little… somethings. We still weren’t quite sure what they were. I brought them upstairs so they would be safe from sun, rain, predators, etc. I went back to work and kept trying to call the local wildlife rescue group. I went home a bit later to put a heating pad under their box to keep them warm. They were fairly active, but very undeveloped. No real eyes yet, and barely a mouth.
As I kept calling the animal rescue, local humane society, etc., I researched online trying to find what these little guys were. Turns out they were opossums. Around 5:30, the wildlife rescue lady called me and asked me to meet her at the rescue center. We took them down there and spoke with the lady. She said for the babies to be found like they were, in a group, out in the open, they were basically ripped from the mother’s pouch. She wasn’t sure if they’d be able to save them, but said they’d do the best they could.
Here are the little ‘possum babies. Sure hope they can hold on. They’ve had a rough start in life.
I remember.
Sep 11th
Last year, I wrote about Matthew Horning. I vowed then that I would personally remember Matthew each year on 9/11.
This morning at 7:30 when I stepped outside with my dogs, I thought for a minute about the events that transpired six years ago today, and about Matthew and the things he must have done at exactly that time of morning, preparing for work, thinking about his girlfriend, planning his day…
Then I looked up and saw that the most beautiful rainbow was stretched across the sky. 
I smiled. The rainbow reminded me of promise. The color and beauty of Matthew’s life lives on, in the memories of those who knew him and in the dreams of those who never did.
Matthew, you are not forgotten.
*CENSORED*
Aug 21st
I censor myself way too much in this blog. There is so much going on in my mind and heart that I never write about, because of what some may think who read it. I think I’m going to start another alternate blog. I’ve got things I need to get out, and no real outlet.
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