I had another post written for today, something a bit silly about getting old but after the tragedy in Aurora, Colorado, it seems out of place for now, as though we – or I – need more time and space before returning to the usual agenda.
How grotesque are the coincidences of this taking place just 20 miles from Columbine and that one of the dead had so recently escaped another mass shooting in Toronto.
It's always like that, isn't it – random, senseless. The shooter is always described as a lone nut and as often as not neighbors and acquaintances say he was quiet, withdrawn but nothing that would make them think he was dangerous. Always, it's like that.
What helps to a degree is learning about the astonishing acts of heroism. The people who died in the theater while shielding others who lived restores hope - as monstrous as the shooter may be, human nobility shines through.
I was thinking how such massacres, as shocking as they are each time, have become routine during my life. The Starkweather/Fugate killings way back when I was in high school. Charles Whitman at the University of Texas – I was there that day although not in danger.
The Long Island Rail Road shootings, Columbine, the Beltway sniper, Virginia Tech, Fort Hood, Tucson, Norway. There are at least a couple dozen more I feel I ought to recall but cannot and don't feel like researching it. I want only to be still for now.
At The Elder Storytelling Place today, Mickey Rogers: The Newfangled Blanket