Enough is Enough

Life has been really challenging for the last two weeks, and yesterday was perhaps the worst. My son and I drove south on the Boulder turnpike yesterday afternoon, returning a borrowed car to the owner. An emergency vehicle, lights flashing, screamed past us on the turnpike, heading north towards Boulder.

A mass shooting in a grocery store in Boulder, Colorado, was underway. The grocery store is one that my son and I know well as it is situated a few blocks from where he used to live and is across the parking lot from the store where I learned how to knit and spin. I can’t count the number of times I crowded into the Starbucks shop in that store with my friends.

Boulder, Colorado is the home of the University of Colorado, and houses thousands of students and their educators. Boulder is a liberal city that enacted a law restricting people from possessing or selling an assault weapon within city limits three years ago; about 10 days ago that restriction was removed in a court ruling.

Boulder is the city that I moved to from California as a young wife and mother. I learned how to spin, dye, and weave fiber in Boulder. I bought my first fleece there and stopped every single year when I headed up to the Estes Park Wool Market.

I returned like a migrating bird every summer to Boulder to take continuing education classes there to maintain my Colorado teaching credentials. I camped with my friends at the high alpine lab facility in the mountains above Boulder and spent a summer there doing field research. My favorite sushi restaurant is in Boulder. My heart will always be in Boulder.

Today my heart is broken.

This is the third mass shooting to occur in my state of Colorado that I have an actual connection to. Other mass shootings have happened that I am more remotely associated with, but they are linked to other members of my family.

I wrote about my experience with and sorrow about the shooting at Columbine High School years ago. Then I wrote about my grief and outrage in the aftermath of the theater shooting where I live now, Aurora, Colorado. Today I am once again writing in the aftermath of an unbearable loss of life because someone with a weapon designed for war used it on other American citizens.

Ten people died yesterday, one of them the first police officer to respond to the shooting. He was the father of 7 children. In spite of his efforts, 9 other people are dead.

I once asked a class of students if they had ever seen someone who had been shot by a gun. Almost a third of them had.

An entire generation of students has now grown up practicing armed intruder drills and fearing for their safety in public places.

I refuse to believe that there is nothing that can be done to stop this.

I am angry. I have once again written all of my congressmen asking for reasonable gun control. I am ready to take to the streets.

Anyone care to join me?

I’m that lady with the purple cane and some fire in her eyes.

Enough is enough.

We Are One

There are small moments when everything that you know suddenly shifts in its frame and the future becomes something that you never imagined could come. You get a diagnosis, you fall in love, you win the lottery. Such was the moment when, while teaching my third period biology class, I glanced towards the door to see an assistant principal and a counselor standing there motioning for me to come out of the room. Once I was in the hallway with them the questions started: Where are your children? Where does your husband work? It was the day of the Columbine shooting.

Columbine High School was one of the two major high schools in my community. My youngest child had just graduated from the other school, Chatfield Senior High, the previous year. I and my immediate family were safe, but the impact was still dreadful. That night I drove home past police in assault gear standing guard at critical intersections; they had positioned road equipment to block the intersections if the “terrorists” tried to escape.

I was a high school teacher. I knew that there are many dark sides to kids in crisis. I imagine that this is also true of the general population, but I had seen enough in my classroom to know that some young people want to burn the world down, and death is not a deterrent to them; the young can be very volatile and especially vulnerable as they are still becoming stakeholders in society. I was pretty sure that the attack was actually being done by students. At the time it was hard to imagine; now we know better.

The impact on the community was dreadful. Here are some of the standout memories:

  •  Crosses were erected on a hillside and piles of flowers, toys and candles appeared on street corners. Finally, tents were erected over the mounds of offering to protect them from the weather.
  • Columbines were displayed everywhere in remembrance. To this day there are still Columbine license plates on cars in Colorado.
  • People huddled together in crowds holding candles against the dark as they mourned together.
  • My students were terrified to come back to school. Some of them asked if I would take a bullet for them. I will, I told them. I will keep you safe, I promised. Now I know that I lied.
  • I cried when I realized that the girl on the cover of the Rocky Mountain News (the image above; photo credit to the Rocky Mountain News) was the cousin of one of my students. She was in the library during the shooting. Not all of the others under the table with her survived.
  • I spun some white cashmere yarn while watching the memorial service on television. I never dyed the yarn so it would match the color of the doves released that day. I still wear the scarf.
  • During those sad days I woke from a nap as a large helicopter flew low over my house. It was President and Mrs. Clinton on their way to meet with the Columbine parents, and the helicopter was Marine One.

Columbine was closed for quite some time after the shooting, and the students of Columbine HS finished their year at the high school near my house, Chatfield; the school ran split sessions to accommodate the two student populations in one building.  Early in the evening right before the Columbine students started at their new school I drove past Chatfield on my way out of the neighborhood, and I saw that Chatfield had been wrapped in a huge ribbon that combined the colors of the two high schools: silver, blue and magenta. There was also a sign that said, “We Are One”, a play on the school district number, R-1. The two schools would become one.

We Are One, I told myself. I turned right and started driving down the hill towards the golf course to the north. Streams of parents were coming up the hill on both sides of the road, clutching each other, walking back towards the high school. They were the parents of the Columbine students, coming to a meeting at the school where their traumatized children would end the year. I continued down the hill and across the bridge with tears streaming down my face.

We Are One.

Today I live in Aurora, Colorado, and everyone knows about the shooting that happened in the theater there. I blogged about my dismay at the huge gun culture (and the money it produces) as evidenced by the unbelievable plethora of gun (shooting) related magazines in the local book store last July. Then last year there was a mass shooting in San Bernardino, California, which is the town where I grew up as a girl. How many mass shootings will I have to deal with in my life? Why should anyone ever have to deal with even one?

Orlando, my heart is broken. I am so very, very sorry that this has happened to you.

We Are One.

Knitting in Aurora

Without a doubt, I am in a mood. I have been feeling poorly for a couple of days now (I took my methotrexate on Monday, and this week it made me sicker than last. Hope this gets better as I continue…), but I needed to pick up prescriptions from the pharmacy and to run some essential errands (the cats expect to be fed on a regular basis; obviously they are out of control!!), so I dragged myself out of bed and feeling a little dizzy and wobbly I headed out.

Here’s the deal. The Kaiser facility where I pick up my prescriptions is right across the street from the Century 16 theater where a gunman (who will remain unnamed in this post) opened fire in a packed theater of moviegoers watching a popular movie on opening night. It was almost 3 years ago today when I woke up to discover that once again Colorado was in the news for a mass shooting, and once again it was happening in my home town. (Sadly I was a resident of Littleton, Colorado at the time of the Columbine shooting). This time the theater is in the heart of my shopping district, and today as I made my rounds to pick up a library book, buy cat food and made a quick stop at the book store to check (what else) the knitting magazines I was almost always in sight of the theater.

Century 16 Theater
This what the theater looks like today after an extensive remodel. I still haven’t gone there to watch a movie since the shooting.

It is pretty heart-rending if you think about it. The police drove up the lawn and over landscaping behind the theater that night to transport victims to local hospitals. They drove on the street that I used to go to Kaiser in patrol cars carrying as many wounded as they could fit into their cars. It’s hard to not think of this as the shooter’s trial is now wrapping up after 45 days, and it’s impossible to avoid the day-to-day details of the events in the courtroom. As I entered the Barnes and Noble bookstore in the shopping center I wondered if that man had come here to also check magazines.

Knitting Magazines
Here’s the knitting magazines on an upper shelf mixed in with other fiber-arts crafting magazines. I counted 12 knitting magazines.

Gun magazines.
Here are the gun magazines. These slick and menacing productions are located on the lowest shelf where kids can sit and go through them, and I counted 30 magazines. I ignored the obvious hunting and gun collecting ones.

So, I am in a mood. I don’t feel well. I spend a lot of time knitting to cope with my altered future due to some serious illnesses. I don’t want to start a debate about gun control, Second Amendment rights, mental illness, the death penalty, the available of military grade armaments through the internet, or the value of explosive rounds. I don’t want to hear that we need more guns to stay safe and that teachers should be packing in their classrooms. Don’t do it!!

I’m just wondering if the world wouldn’t be a better place if bookstores carried a dozen hard to find gun magazines on their shelves, and there were 30 knitting magazines located at the level of children for them to look through. Wouldn’t it be nice if we all felt safe and dreamed of creating nice cushy scarfs, sweaters and mittens that would be beautiful and useful. That knitting was seen as an important meditative activity as wonderful as yoga, jogging, or any of the other stress-busters out there. That the economic power of knitting and other crafting venues drove a huge industry of creative pursuits valued by a large part of the population.

What does this say about us as a people that this isn’t the case?