A Daughter's Christmas Story

Even from Momma's bedside at a hospital room in Nashville, I am discovering more reasons to be Lovin' it in Limestone.

Since friends, church family, co-workers and strangers in Limestone County have heard about Momma's ordeal from being declared brain dead to breathing on her own, prayers, calls, Facebook messages, money, Christmas carols, Christmas cards, food and kind acts have traveled Interstate 65 by vehicle or by phone.


Two words like "thank you" seem so inadequate to express what this support has meant to us. The next best thing is to share with you how your prayers and support have given us a Christmas surprise.

On Dec. 3, Momma called me and her sister because she was short of breath and had a pain in her chest and lower side. She had been short of breath for a few days but her doctor thought it was a reaction to a new fluid pill she was taking to treat swelling in her legs.


We now know blood clots traveled from her legs to her lungs, and during an episode with acid reflux, she exerted pressure on a now weakened heart and tore her aorta.


Aunt Jim (short for Jimalee - what a great Southern name) and I took Momma to Crockett Hospital in Lawrenceburg, Tenn., where she stayed all day and part of the night. She was diagnosed with at least one blood clot in her lung. Momma was sent to a room and began giving me orders like a reality TV chef.

"Check the cat's food and water." "Turn down my central unit so I'm not paying to heat a house I'm not even at." "Bring me my make-up. Y'all drug me up here with no make-up and my hair not combed and looking like a tramp."


Aunt Jim stayed with her while I drove to St. Joseph to adhere to her "requests." I was on my way back when my cousin, Aunt Jim's daughter Patty, called to tell me, "You better get back here quick."


A blood clot went to Momma's heart. The jolt caused her heart to stop beating, not once, but five times. Unbeknown to us, the medical staff revived her each time with paddles and CPR for an hour-and-a-half. While Elizabeth Brewer, who was a second mom to me throughout high school, held me in her grasp, I was told Momma was stable and on a ventilator, but likely would have no brain function. I demanded they fly her to St. Thomas Hospital in Nashville.


Hilton, who is due to have a baby girl any day, drove me at 2 in the morning to Nashville, hitting speed bumps in the hospital driveway so fast I thought she was going to knock her baby out. "If she goes into labor on the trip, we'll just deliver it and name it," Patty said.


Hilton, Justin, Misty, Josh, Aunt Jim, Patty, and cousins Doy, Rita and Matt sat with me in a family conference room at the hospital while we waited for the doctor at St. Thomas to tell us her prognosis.


Dr. Casey said she was stable and a team of doctors was evaluating her. It was after everyone had left and I had gotten a couple hours of sleep that Dr. Casey and a nurse named Terese found me. They suggested I call the family in to say goodbyes. There was no evidence of any brain function. The ventilator was doing all her breathing.


Through tears,  I started calling family and friends. Misty and Josh returned, and family came in to see her one last time. Momma's name was placed on prayer lists throughout the country that Sunday morning, thanks to my Facebook followers and those of you in Limestone County.


Around lunchtime, I noticed Momma kept moving her head, as if irritated by the ventilator. The nurse assured me that was a natural gag reflex. She kept twitching her feet, and the nurse assured me the body was hyper sensitive, even when there was no brain function.


Misty and I had doubts. While Terese was checking Momma's vitals, she jerked her head again. I touched her forehead.


"Momma, can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?" I asked.


She blinked! The nurse told me to try again.


"Momma. It's me. Open your eyes for me," I implored.


She briefly did! She couldn't squeeze my hand, but she pushed her feet against Misty's hands. The team of doctors returned, re-evaluated this tough Pollock gal, and changed her status to "cautiously better."


It wasn't until  a few days later that Misty asked me whether I realized that Momma opened her eyes and pushed her feet about the time churches were getting out for morning service.


"Think of all the prayer lists she was on," Misty said. "That doesn't sound like a coincidence to me."


Since in a week and two days time she is breathing on her own and able to briefly stand and whisper to me, I don't think it's a coincidence either.

Momma, me and Daddy back in the day

Good Night New York City

Good night New York City!
Good night the lights, the legends, the city life.
Good night dodging vehicles. Good night Little Italy. Good night Broadway.
Good night subway lines. Good night tired feet. Good night, New York City, good night.

New York Ramblings

Kim, Matt, me and Hannah at Gravy New York

I am just now able to blog because our hotel wanted to charge $11 a day for internet. Welcome to New York!

Since surviving the 22-hour train ride - by the way, changing underwear and putting in contacts in a tiny and jostling bathroom is such entertainment - I have started rambling around the city. Straight from the train, I went with a small group to the Empire State Building observatory. The view was like a forest of architecture.

After wondering around the city - including a pit stop at Toys R Us where Kelley showed me a toy bed bug because of my fear of finding the creatures in our hotel rooms - we sat on the red stage steps at Times Square and watched the unusual folks who come out to play in the big city. One woman was rocking and cuddling a fake baby. Another guy was listening to music and playing an unrelated tune on a harmonica repeatedly. Several foreigners seemed to have found access to a Bedazzler and went dazzle delirious.

Today we meant to hit the stores none of us can afford to pronounce much less shop in but a jogger knocked down a grandmother in our group at Central Park and she broke her wrist. Sampieri and our security, Deputy Mike Boyles, and I ended up doing some brisk walking through the park looking for the "big rock" as the group of students with the jogger victim kept telling us by phone. We did have time to grab burgers before making it to see "Wicked."

Afterward, I survived a short subway trip to meet Matt, my friend from elementary school and our old Tot Town Daycare days, and my friend from college, Kim. We ate at a Southern, yes Southern, restaurant called Gravy New York. I had something called the bog which had various seafood. It was tasty.

I am spending the night with Kim, Hannah and Oliver and then taking the subway in the morning to meet up with the band at Times Square. Kim and Matt have trained me on my "mean face" so no one messes with me on the subway.

Lovin' the Big Apple

I will be lovin' it in New York this week. I am headed with the East Limestone Marching Band to the Big Apple. They are appearing in the Veterans Day Parade.

If I survive today's 22-hour train ride with 120-something teenagers, I plan to blog about the trip this week. We will get to hang out at Times Square, go to the 9-11Memorial, see the Broadway show Wicked and take a dinner cruise.

I also am going to meet a friend of mine from elementary school, Matt, and one of my close friends from college, Kim. We are going to eat at a place called Gravy New York, a Southern restaurant. Yep, I'm  headin' North to eat soul food. Here's the website for it.

http://www.gravyny.com/

Hope to check in Tuesday night if the train of teens doesn't slay me. Now where did I pack my ear plugs?

Boogers of Love

If you spend time with a toddler, you have been the recipient of boogers of love.

I get most of my boogers of love from my 2-year-old nephew Tyler, but my nieces Hannah and Allie were just as guilty about sharing their boogers in their younger days.

These toddlers are crafty about their booger blessings. When he has a cold, Tyler does the subtle swift swipe on my shoulder while clutching his chubby arms around my neck. I will invariably come home to find crusted boogers on my shoulder or in my curls.

He also has a slick knee nudge maneuver. If I am sitting down, he'll totter over to me and act like he wants to put his head on my lap. He will nudge my knee with his nose, leaving behind shades of yellow, green or brown. They are the color of love for these tikes.

One day, I'm sure Tyler will attempt the rub-your-nose-picking-finger-on-her-pants routine.

I take my role as a human Kleenex in stride. What are aunts for if not to be blessed with boogers of love? Besides, it gives me a guilt angle. While his mother can use the, "I was in labor with you for 10 hours," guilt trip, I can use the one, "I was a walking booger catcher for you for three years."

Letter From a Father

I received this from a friend of mine who said everyone needs to think about what this father wrote about a horrible wreck that happened in Limestone County. I decided to include it on my blog.

One Hundred

by Jim Nunn on Tuesday, October 11, 2011 at 9:06am

One Hundred.  What is it? Is it just a number?  Is it different than any other number?  I mean, one hundred dollars really won’t set you up for life financially….  Most people have more than one hundred friends on Facebook.  Some people can hold their breath for more than one hundred seconds. Most movies are longer than one hundred minutes.  So why is one hundred different?  Let me tell you about a very special one hundred. 

This story begins as a tale of two people.  Although not related by birth, they had formed a special bond as “step-sisters” and this is where our story begins.  Skylar and Lauren had one of those love/hate relationships that was really all love – it was just too much fun to pick on each other, one would play jokes on the other, and enjoyed a friendly insult or two.  They grew so close that they referred to themselves as “sisters for life.” 

On Friday, October 7, the story takes a turn and this is really where the story begins.  Skylar was taking Lauren to her car so they could both go to their respective jobs.  This was probably something that they had done more times than they could count.  It was just another day doing another thing that didn’t seem any different than any other day.  There were probably plans made for that night after work, or the next day, or even next week.  I can guarantee that what happened instead was NOT in either one of their plans.  It wasn’t in their friends, family, or community plans either.  But sometimes things happen we don’t plan for or want to happen and it turns your world upside down.  This did.

Without giving the details (because they really don’t matter), there was a horrific accident.  In that single vehicle accident were two very special people – Lauren and Skylar.  Both Lauren and Skylar were ejected from the vehicle by the force of the accident.  In the aftermath of the accident, two things were immediately clear.  First, all of the plans they made were suddenly changed.  Secondly, there were two very seemingly different outcomes of the “SFL.”

It seems that Skylar was killed instantly by the impact, and somehow Lauren’s life was spared.  Why?  I can’t understand or make reason behind it.  But I can explain what happens next.  The normal accident things happen.   Police and medical experts were called to the scene and they probably responded did their jobs like they do every day, repeating duties that they could repeat in their sleep.  They were living their life not knowing that they were witnessing the very beginning of something that can only be described as a miracle.  I’m sure that there are aspects and things about this story that I don’t know.  I’m just telling you my version and what I know.

So I’m eating a late lunch on Friday at 2 pm.  My phone rings and I receive the news of a wreck and there are no details.  I start praying because that’s all I know I can do.  A few minutes later, I get another call and hear that Lauren in being transported by Med Flight.  I work less than 10 minutes from the hospital – so I leave work, assuming we are headed to the same place.  On the way I am praying because all I know is that there has been a wreck and my daughter is in serious condition.  I am in baby panic mode.  I just need to see her and know how she is.

I arrive at the hospital, go to the emergency room, and inquire about Lauren.  Of course I have to wait a few minutes.  After what seemed like hours, they send someone out to get me and they take me back to another mini waiting room.  It’s just the nurse and I.  She sits down and I fear the worse.  She informs me that Lauren in getting a CAT scan and that Lauren has multiple serious injuries, but that she is responsive.  Another seemingly forever goes by and they come and get me to take me to Lauren.  We meet in the hall coming from different directions.  I will never forget the sight of Lauren when I first saw her.  Daddies should never have to see their daughters like that.  I go to her, touch the bottom of her foot – at this time the only area I figure is not hurt and gently say “Hey Lauren.”  To my surprise, she looks over, sees me and replies “Hey, Dad.”  I ask her how she feels and how is she doing.  Her reply is “I’m just chilling.”

“Just chilling?”  Seriously?  Does she know she’s been in a serious accident, ejected from the vehicle, injuries serious enough that required med flight, and now laying in an emergency room?  Yep, she does.  As the onslaught of doctors, test, and flurry of activity ensue, one thing becomes very clear.  Lauren has been blessed.  I can’t explain why.  I have more questions than answers.  I’m hurting.  In one way, I am so relieved, but at the same time in mourning for her best friend.

As the doctors and the results start pouring in, I am in shock.  Lauren, who is “just chilling” has injuries that are unbelievable.  There is a fractured skull, broken ribs – 3 of them, broken collarbone, her pelvic bone is broken, the liver has some small tears and is bleeding internally, a bruised kidney, a small section of her lung is bruised and collapsed, an eye that is nearly swollen shut, and more scrapes and bruises than I can count.  But then other results are following the initial report.  EVERY injury that she has IS serious, but in some way it is “ideal.”  For instance, you really don’t want a fractured skull.  But if you HAVE to have one, you want one like Lauren has that is very small and can vent pressure as needed so to reduce the chances of surgery.  The list and examples go on and on.  The injuries – all of them – are serious injuries, but they have happened in such a way that they are the “best case scenario” for that particular type of injury.  More results continue to come back and they are the same.  It is serious.  Many of her injuries could turn bad very quickly and require surgery but right now, the doctors wanted to wait, see what happens, and do more test.  They inform me that after about five or six hours after being admitted to the hospital, Lauren is being moved to the surgical intensive care unit.  She’s not longer a trauma case, but needs to be monitored very closely and have the ability to be whisked away at a moment’s notice to the operating room if that is needed. 

I have to leave my daughter’s side, knowing I won’t be able to see her for hours – and then only for a few minutes at a time.  I’m hurting emotionally, and she’s hurting mostly physically and we are forced to say our goodbyes.  She tells me “Dad, I’m gonna be OK – I’m a fighter.”  I walk out into the waiting area and am shocked by the outpouring of love and support from friends, family, classmates, and community.  It appears as if we are having a revolt in the hospital.  We have taken over the place there are so many people there.  We have our first visitation hours in ICU and I go see Lauren.  She already seems to look better.  I tell her that there are tons of people outside that want to see her and she says that she wants to see as many as possible.  The nurses and staff are wonderful –they allow us some extra time to allow many friends and family to see her.

After countless visitors, it is time to do and witness one of the toughest things I’ve ever seen.  After hours of her asking, Lauren is informed by Skylar’s Dad that Skylar did not make it.  It wasn’t fun to see and I can’t imagine what he felt when he had to tell Lauren.  She takes the news in typical Lauren fashion.  After a few tears, she starts making us laugh as she tells us of things that the two sisters for life had discussed.  

I have a conversation with the doctor and he gives me an update on Lauren.  They are still very worried about the injury to her head and liver, but if everything continues as it has been, there is a possibility that Lauren may not have to have any surgery.  None.  Almost unexplainable with her injuries. By Saturday afternoon, this is confirmed by the various specialists treating Lauren.  She will make a full recovery I prepare for an extended stay at the hospital.  As expected, the next few days are a blur.  Visits with friends and family, short visits with Lauren and coordinating as many people seeing Lauren as possible because that is what Lauren wants.  By lunchtime on Saturday it becomes official - unless something drastic changes, Lauren should be able to heal completely without any surgery. 

Every time I see Lauren over the next couple of visits, she shocks me.  The rate at which she is healing is unexplainable – a word I have used a lot this week. By Sunday morning – IN THE ICU – I am told that Lauren will be moved to a normal room AND should be able to attend her best friend’s funeral.  I am so thankful, but absolutely shocked.  Of course, the word spreads quickly and Sunday is a flurry.  Flowers, balloons, cards, pictures, friends, and family come pouring in- but just right so it doesn’t overwhelm Lauren.

On Monday as we are prepping to take Lauren on a very difficult trip, the doctor comes in and we are discussing the details.  I am given very direct and precise directions.  I ask the doctor if there is a “curfew” or time she needs to be back.  He looks at me and says “I don’t know that she has to come back.”  WHAT?  Are you freaking kidding me?  Unexplainable.  We decide (actually Lauren decided) that it would be best to return to the hospital after the funeral for the night and leave the next day, so that’s our plan.

We take Lauren and she does great.  Keep in mind; she has only walked to the bathroom from her bed – a distance of about ten feet – three or four times since being in the hospital.  That is amazing in itself.  She gets to the funeral and decides she is walking with her family and she doesn’t need the wheelchair.  And she does.  She walks in and out of the church and to the car unassisted (but with a very nervous dad watching very closely).  Unexplainable. 

By Tuesday morning I’m sitting here typing this as I’m watching my last sunrise from this room.  I’ve had many conversations in the past couple of days and have seen many things that I don’t understand and can’t explain.  They are truly unexplainable.  Although this has been lengthy, it doesn’t even start to include everything.  It would take too much time but I can tell you this:  I have seen multiple miracles in the past few days.

One hundred.  What is it?  It’s just a number.  Why is this one hundred different than any other one hundred?  Because God was in TOTAL control and I saw how He can orchestrate the universe and use tragedy for His good.  It’s something I have heard about over and over again, but when you see it, it is unexplainable.  Everything that has happened since Friday afternoon has taken less than 100 hours.  The affects of the past 100 hours reach much further than my family and my daughter’s friends.  Their story has literally spread all around the world thanks to prayer chains and the internet, and the message it shares should not be taken lightly.

100 hours ago my daughter and her best friend were acting like they would on any other day.  Since then, there has been tragedy, triumph, victory, and miracles beyond belief.  One earthly body lost, instantly becoming an angel and going to comfort and protect the fall of her sister for life – protecting her from serious injury, then protecting her injuries and injecting them with healing power that does not come from this world.  As one wise man has said more than once – “I can’t prove it, but you can’t prove me wrong, either.”  She has endured more pain and suffering than I have ever endured while cheering those who come to comfort her.  I have heard more laughter than tears.

In the past 100 hours, my daughter has healed at rates that are unexplainable.   Medicine and science can’t explain it.  Yes, God has given individuals the knowledge and skills need to test and treat the broken and I really appreciate that.  But in the big picture, all the doctors have done are run some tests and prescribe medicine.  That is very important and I’m thankful, but THE doctor has done the healing.  It can’t be explained any other way. 

In the past 100 hours I have seen relationships instantly healed where there has been years of bitterness.  In the past 100 hours, I have seen a community realize that this world is not the prize and realize that this afternoon is not guaranteed.  In the past 100 hours, I have seen the most perfect funeral where at least 20 people have made a decision to follow Christ and decide to search for the real prize.  I have seen how we are to take what this world gives us – imperfect and painful – filter it through God, and reflect His Glory. 

In the past 100 hours, I have felt the comforting effect of prayer more than I have at any time in my life.  I know this situation has been soaked in prayer and it shows.  Yes, we will miss Skylar Ann Mays and that hurts.  But Skylar lives on.  Her legacy and story continue.  It has made eternal changes and she’s up dancing and singing with God and rejoicing with us that we are here to share her story. 

In the past 100 hours, I have been changed.  We should all have been changed by what we have seen.  That’s what Skylar would want.  Her leaving this world for the next is painful, but in the end, it has brought healing, reconciliation, more miricles than I can count, and it all reflects the awesome power of God. 

Please don’t let your next 100 hours be like your last 100 hours

Trust me, one hundred - it’s much more than a number.

The Southern Way of Overcoming Adversity

Gary and Teresa Lovell from Owens VFD

A FEMA official walked up to the East Limestone Volunteer Fire Department after the April 27 tornadoes and saw a community that had already rallied. Firefighters, school students and staff and neighbors had established a command center at the fire station, which was damaged by multiple tornadoes that swept through that day.


The FEMA guy saw food, water and supplies being divided and taken out into the community and asked, "Don't take this the wrong way, but what do you need me for? You've got tornado damage, but y'all are out here cooking and delivering food, and even victims are out here helping."


He got an up close look at the Southern way of overcoming adversity. Since the power was out, people shared food from their freezers and had community cookouts or donated it to responders. Others bought water, sunscreen and items victims needed and began handing out boxes in the devastated areas of the county.


On the first of October, the department held an open house to celebrate the completion of repairs on its building and to thank the community for pulling together. Chief Joey Boyd made BBQ chicken and white sauce and the community ate for free. You can't have a Southern celebration without good food, and it doesn't get much better than free Southern food.


There were some good natured arguments over what SEC football game to watch on the meeting hall television. Folks slippd chicken skin to Sheriff Blakely's dog. Kids jumped in an inflatable bouncer, and men wore pink to promote a Breast Cancer Awareness pink T-shirt fundraiser. It was a great day to be "Lovin' it in Limestone."


After the tornadoes, it was an inspiration to see people help their neighbors and strangers in spite of their own troubles. On this fall Saturday, it was further inspiration to see a community overcome and join together with the intent of never forgetting, but the desire of moving on.

Sauceda waits for scraps

Limestone Quirks Worth Lovin'

There are quirks about Limestone County that are worth lovin'.

Here's my list. Please add to it.

• If I need to find someone I want to interview at the Tanner Truck and Tractor Pull, I can walk up to the announcer and have him holler for that spectator to stand up and wave.
• I can slip my payment through a crack in the doors at Hendricks-Patton-Rancl after hours.
• The guy at the nearby convenience store made me a wooden basket.
• When winds knocked down my tree onto my backyard neighbor's goat shed and neither of our insurance companies would pay, a local congregation cut the wood up for a widow who uses a stove for heat.
• Patriotic songs play from the courthouse chimes each morning.
• Churches and volunteer fire departments took care of tornado victims weeks before FEMA arrived.
• If I miss church, one of my Smith sisters will be texting to see what's going on.
• The locals know the big decisions made by city officials were once made in the back room at Dub's.
• The media gets tips from an Athens based Deep Throat.
• The Ripley community makes Christmas floats and uses the prize money to buy Bibles to hand out.

Fightin' For Inches in East Limestone

I arrived home from my beach vacation in time to catch the East Limestone-Russellville football game tonight. It was a fight for inches. Twice East Limestone ate up inches of gridiron while running back kick-off returns. A punter mishandling a snap placed East inches from the goal line and a quick TD.

Closing out the third quarter with the lead, East Limestone tried to run the ball to take time off the clock. A fumble put Russellville in position to tie the game. My friend Hilton, who is pregnant, said the suspense was going to make her start having contractions.

A field goal put East back on top with seconds remaining, but Russellville gained ground on its last possession until an interception appeared to clinch it for East. A penalty took those hard earned inches away, and Russellville went sprinting for the end zone on the next play only to lose a bobbled ball which was intercepted by East and taken to its end zone. East won 37-28.

I am not a graduate of East Limestone. I am a Mustang, and graduate of Loretto High School in Tennessee.

But East Limestone has become my adopted school inch by inch. One of my best friends - Jennifer Janzen, aka Miss Sam, became band director, so I began to meet the students and parents when I helped out or came to see the band perform. That put me inches closer to having a "home" school in Limestone County.

When I got a job at the Athens paper, I covered East for sports. The late Coach Cav let me cover the games from the sidelines, which I preferred over the press box. I just had to promise to stay out of his way and not quote some of the more colorful outbursts he made during the game. That moved me a few more inches toward a favorite Limestone team.

As time went on, the principal, Coach Black, adopted me as a fan. I know where to park, where to sit and what to cheer. I can't walk to the concession stand without stopping every few feet to talk to folks I know. Once I reach the concession stand, I know what to eat to add a few inches to my waistline (thank you deep fried Twinkies and deep fried Snickers).

That's how, inch by inch, I've found myself  Lovin' it in East Limestone.

My 9-11 Memory

On the morning of 9-11, I battled through my slumber as I do most mornings and started my fast-paced routine. We were an afternoon newspaper then, so my mornings were about amassing the night’s crime in less than an hour beginning at 7:45 a.m. To keep from being distracted, I didn’t even turn on the television as I began my calls.

I dialed Athens Fire and Rescue, and Dawn Blakely answered.

“You got anything going on?” I asked.

“Nothing like what’s going on in New York,” she replied.

“What’s going on there?” I asked.

“Girl, don’t you have your TV on?”

I turned it on and saw a gaping hole in one of the World Trade Center towers. The news said  a plane hit it. I told Dawn I had to go and called my editor, Regina Wright. While we were on the phone, a second plane hit the second tower.

“(Insert curse word). This ain’t an accident,” Regina told me.

There wasn’t a TV in the newsroom at the time, so she told me to monitor the news and call her with updates. My friend and roommate Jennifer Hilton called to ask me what was going on because Redstone Arsenal had gone into lockdown. She worked with a yard maintenance crew there, and they had been out weed-eating when the arsenal locked down. Hilton said she didn’t know when she would be released.

I monitored the news until Regina called and told me to come in to start trying to reach anyone in New York who had a connection to our local area. Before I left, the news reported that a plane hit the Pentagon and one might be headed for the White House. I called Regina again.

“They’ve hit the Pentagon!” she yelled across the newsroom. “Oh, my God. This is it. The nuclear plant’s next. You need to get in. Come on in.”

I listened to the news coverage on the radio as I drove south on U.S. 31. Right before I got to the causeway, I heard a panicked correspondent report that one of the towers had crumbled. The anchor did not understand what she was trying to say and asked, “Part of the tower fell?”

 “It’s gone. It’s gone. The whole tower is gone,” the correspondent said.

I had to pull over on the side of the road as grief hit me. I tried to call my friend Kim Hall Yang who moved from Alabama to New York, but I couldn’t get through. I didn’t know if her school was near the World Trade Center or if she would have been in the area.

Once I made it to the newsroom, the adrenaline hit. Meeting a deadline kept an entire newsroom from going numb or succumbing to fear. Everyone was on the phone trying to reach people we knew in New York or local families who had loved ones in New York.

Regina sent me that night to watch the news coverage with firefighters at Athens Fire and Rescue and record their reactions to seeing fellow firemen and police run into a fiery battlefield encased in glass, steel, and concrete to save those trying to escape the inferno.

When I got home,  Hilton, Jennifer Sampieri, and I watched the news coverage until the early morning hours. We didn’t talk. We just stared at the television in shock.

The terrorist attack was this generation’s Pearl Harbor. On that day, we were all New  Yorkers.

In the 10 years since, other countries, even those that initially expressed sympathy, have criticized us for engaging in war. Our economy has suffered. Many people express their hate of us.

America is not perfect. It is a country with a split personality. It has a bad side and a good side. Thankfully, this is a country where we can report on both.

I remember that after 9-11, I wrote a story about what was believed to be the first hate crime committed in response. It happened in Texas, and the killer, Mark Stroman, had lived for a time in Limestone County.

While we do have examples of hate in our history, we also have examples compassion and courage, such as what was seen on that day.

In the North Tower, Frank  Martini and Pablo Ortiz ignored their own safety and helped give more than 70 people from the upper floors of the World Trade Center a chance to escape. They spared others’ lives only to lose their own.

On Flight 93, Todd Beamer and his fellow passengers learned of the attacks in New York and knew their hijacked plane was destined to become a weapon. They decided to fight back. The words, “Let’s roll,” were the last ones Todd uttered on the phone before the passengers ran to tackle a hijacker. The plane crashed in Pennsylvania, never hitting its target.

“Let’s roll,” became a battle cry.

Acts of compassion are seen each day in this country, and we also reach out to citizens of other nations. American students may be woefully ignorant of world geography, but let a tsunami, earthquake, or another natural disaster strike, and youngsters will start scrambling to collect pennies to send monetary aid to countries they can’t locate on a globe.

Hurricane Katrina or an EF5 tornado strikes here, and where are the pennies from school children from other nations? Where are the volunteers hopping on planes and coming here to help? We are expected to take care of our own, so we do, and yet, we never hesitate to help others.

Granted, we have our shortcomings. We have struggles to overcome.

But this is a country that has established an ideal that all are free and all have a chance to chase their dreams. We may not live our ideal each day, but each day we try, and each day we get a step closer.

Where Were You When The World Stopped Turning?

Creating a motto for Athens...

Athens is looking for a new image and motto. Based on some ideas thrown out by the community at a public hearing tonight, I came up with a few. They were not included in my coverage of the meeting, so I thought I would share them here.

Some suggested Athens has unknown treasures, is a best-kept secret, is ideal for families and offers a helping hand. This is what came up with from that:

Athens - Come as a visitor, leave as a friend.

 

Athens - Come back home.

 

Athens - Seek your treasure here.

 

Athens - Uncover the secret.

 

If y'all have suggestions, add them under comments!

Saturday Celebrations

Today was a day of celebrations, one to celebrate a birth and one to celebrate a rebirth.

Two years ago, my best friend Hilton woke me up in the middle of the night with a phone call, "I'm having the baby."

I jumped out of bed, grabbed some snacks and extras clothes, threw them in a bag, and headed to Huntsville Hospital. As I walked into the maternity area, Hilton looked at her husband Justin and said, "Oh, look. She packed a bag." Apparently the expectant couple was not prepared and showed up with nothing but suckers, a sports bra, and a hairbrush.

Two years later, my nephew Tyler celebrated his 2nd birthday and said my name for the first time. It sounded something like, "Ha-eee." I can remember each moment my nieces Hannah and Allie first said my name, and now I will forever remember the first time Tyler uttered it.

The second celebration was an anniversary. Today, four months ago, my photographer Gary Cosby and I covered a super outbreak of tornadoes, including an EF5. We worked separately and both managed to live through the seven twisters without sustaining injury. By the time the EF5 struck just south of me, I was seeking shelter at Hilton's house and hiding in the bathroom with her family as hail battered the house and vehicles and winds bent pine trees parallel to the ground.

Cosby was on U.S. 31 in Tanner shooting the massive monster as it feasted on Limestone County, gobbling up anything in its path. He barely split the scene before being hit.

In the aftermath, we worked together to tell stories of tragedy and triumph. We hitched a ride with volunteer firefighters as they delivered food and water in East Limestone, and it was then we met Chris Preston. The tornado hit Chris' house, his son's house, his mom's house, his business and his church. Many from a nearby subdivision sought shelter in his basement after Chris and his sons went to get them.

Chris invited the community to supper for the four-month anniversary. We sat at tables in the yard, eating barbecue and drinking lemonade and Sun-Drop as a summer breeze blew. In the distance, a scarred land was visible, but so were signs of tenacity. Trees stripped of bark had clumps of leaves growing. Roofs covered with blue tarps were next to frames for new houses.

And a family that has twice survived and EF5 - 1974 and April 27 - gathered with friends and family to offer thanks to God for sparing the lives of those present and for instilling that desire to live on.

Chris addressed the crowd before prayer was offered for the food. Tears threatened as he thanked those who helped rebuild, sweep glass from the yard, report the story, and hand out water.

"We prayed together. We worked together. We brought this community together," Chris said. "We've gone from saying a prayer while hiding in a dug out basement with 200 mph winds to gathering here today."

A day of rebirth.

A day of  celebration.

A good day to be "Lovin' it in Limestone."

"Carry On, Coach."

Lady Vols Coach Pat Summitt may not be from Limestone County, but she has the grit of many women I have met not only in this county, but throughout the South. I feel it is fitting to include her in a blog about Lovin' it in Limestone because she has influenced so many in basketball as I know she will now influence so many with her new battle.

This week she announced she has been diagnosed with early onset dementia, the Alzheimer's type. She threatened to punch one doctor who suggested she retire. She plans to coach and strive for her ninth national championship this year.

I say, "Carry on, Coach." Fight this disease like it was an SEC foe or even worse, connecticut standing in your way of that championship. (I lower cased connectitcut on purpose. I think Pat would approve.)

I grew up watching her coach. My Momma and many of her sisters played basketball when women were told they could not run the length of the floor. Instead, they played half-court. Momma was a guard and resented the fact she could only play defense. It tickled her each time Coach Summitt defeated a team coached by a man and when she became the coach with the most wins ever, man or woman.

Momma talks sports with her sisters, especially my Aunt Bonnie in Memphis and until this year, my Aunt Charlene in Nashville. Aunt Charlene loved Vandy, so she and Momma often argued over Vandy and the Vols. Sports held Aunt Charlene's attention even after she was diagnosed with dementia. There were days she did not know who Momma was when Momma called her. There were times Momma and my Aunt Jimalee visited her that she cried for her own mother.

She died from the disease this year.

The disease is cruel, taking memories and dignity from its victims. If anyone can give it a tough fight, I know it is Coach Summitt. After all, she recruited one of her best players while going into labor, and she refused to allow the plane to land in Virginia as she left the recruiting trip. She gave birth to her baby boy in Tennessee.

So I say, carry on, Coach, like the tough Southern lady you are.

A Sunday Afternoon in Athens

I was attacked by a bazooka on a Sunday afternoon in Athens.
Not the weapon.
The bubble gum.
I took my second mom, Debra Sampieri, to the VJ Day Remembered program at the Athens Senior Center. While looking at my program, a piece of the square pink gum struck my hand and landed on the floor. I looked up to find the town's Bubble Gum Man, also known as Hugo Bates, smiling at me from a couple of rows ahead.
This is the kind of town where you can get struck by bazooka gum by a real life character named Bubble Gum Man.
It's also the kind of town where you can spend a Sunday afternoon with characters like Ray Charles, Bob Hope, and Gen. George Patton - characters played by local residents for the rememberance program. With humor, dance, songs, and local stories, the program took a packed senior center back to the World War II era.
Evan Thornton had audience members laughing as he played an overly exhuberant G.I. who won a chance to be on stage with Carmen Miranda during a Bob Hope NCO Show. He and three other "G.I.s" danced with Carmen while wearing fruit on their heads.
Jerry Barksdale left some crying as he told the story of Winston Garth of Athens, who survived being a POW and helped a friend survive a forced march in the snow, only to come home and learn his younger brother was killed in battle.
Gratitude had the audience rise in standing ovation as World War II veterans, one for each military branch, stood by a screen showing their service photographs.
As the program ended, Ray Charles sang "America the Beautiful" and Celine Dion sang "God Bless America" with the cast. Instead of pieces of gum flying, Old Glory was flying as the crowd waved the Stars and Stripes.
A woman in front of us cried as she watched a man I assume was her father and a veteran, struggle to stand with the help of family and his cane.
Athens is this kind of town, too.
One where you can laugh and cry with your neighbors, and leave with a piece of gum.

That's right. I'm a "shelter seeker."

I discovered something about myself today. I am officially a "shelter seeker."

I have been a seeker since the April 27 tornado outbreak, but my psyche hid it from me well. I failed to realize that while driving around Limestone County, I have been collecting data on places to hide during a storm.

What woke my mind up today was when I drove by a culvert on a Tanner back road and thought, "I can fit in there."

I realized that since the tornado outbreak and subsequent storms, my subconscious self has been noting and filing away locations of safety.
Outdoor shelters, large culverts, deep drainage ditches, community safe rooms and houses that I know contain safe rooms. My mind created a file for this body called, "Note to self, hide here."

It's understandable.

The day of the tornadoes - last count I saw was seven hit Limestone, including an EF5 - I somehow managed to cover the damage all day without getting blown away. More tornadoes, electrical storms and straight-line winds have followed. I have escaped without getting struck by lightning, toppled by a tree, or washed off the road. I would like to keep that streak going.

As November and another tornado season looms, my eyes dart to the left and right side of the road when I drive.

"I could bust the lock on that shelter." Location noted. "That family looks friendly and might let me in." Location noted. "That ditch doesn't flood." Location noted.

So, if you hear the warning sirens blaring one afternoon and run for your shelter, and you find a curly haired lady has already taken up residence, this is my official introduction. It's nice to meet you. My name's Holly, and I'm a shelter seeker.

A person (name withheld to protect the guilty) recently said to me, in a tone that bespoke aggravation, that Athens is always having patriotic events.

I fail to see that as a bad trait for any community.

Limestone County has sent many of its fathers and mothers, sons and daughters, and brothers and sisters to defend this country and in some cases, die for it. I welcome the Flag Days, Veterans Day Parade, Alabama Veterans Museum programs and other celebrations.

My mother, who was the youngest of 12 (11 natural born children and one cousin raised as a sibling), had three brothers who left their Tennessee farm and fought in World War II.
Another boy wanted to make his card for firefighters and thanked them for "Putting out our fires."

Living in a community that honors those who serve and hosts many patriotic events is not an aggravation to me. It's another rea
My father got his shots and was within a week of being sent to Korea when the military began withdrawing troops. He served his time in Europe. His brother fought in Vietnam, and they lost a cousin who died shortly after arriving in Vietnam.

I was lucky enough to be on the last Tennessee Valley Honor Flight, which flew on Sept. 11, 2010. I took with me pictures of my uncles and a Japanese flag one uncle captured and had his fellow servicemen sign. I found the Tennessee pillar at the World War II memorial and propped black and white pictures of my uncles by the state name and took their pictures. They died long before the memorial was a concept, so this was my way of sharing the memorial with them.

Karen Middleton took my picture holding the Japanese flag, which drew the attention of some foreign visitors who began snapping their own photos of my uncles.

In November, I plan to accompany the East Limestone High School Band to New York where they will march in the Veterans Day Parade and see the World Trade Center Memorial.

To me, patriotism should never take a break. If the men and women who fought and still fight for our country ever took a break, I shudder to think of the outcome.

A few weeks ago, my home congregation, Coxey Church of Christ, held its annual Vacation Bible School. I wrote the material and was asked to cover three attitudes: obey, respect, and serve. For the lesson on serve, the students learned how Jesus served others, but I also made sure to note how we should thank those who have served and are serving us, including police officers, firefighters, and military. The students made cards for the Veterans Museum to display at Coffee Call and/or the upcoming VJ Day program. One boy thanked everyone for serving in the Navy. One girl thanked the soldiers for being brave.

Another boy wanted to make his card for firefighters and thanked them for, "Putting out our fires."

Living in a community that honors those who serve and hosts patriotic events is not an aggravation for me. It's another reason I'm Lovin' it in Limestone.

Just call her Nanny

When I moved to Limestone County, one of the first people I met was a woman I only knew as Nanny. I soon learned that if this woman called Nanny was at a function, there was a good chance I would get a slice of Elvis Presley cake.

As I started to learn to make family connections in the community, I finally realized Nanny was Margaret McElyea, mother of Debbie Blakely and mother-in-law of Sheriff Mike Blakely.

I also learned she is kin to 3/4 of the people I go to church with, the Smith clan at Coxey Church of Christ. The Smith clan adopted me as one of their family, so Nanny in turn has adopted me as well.

On Thursday, she celebrated her 80th birthday, a surprise Debbie was able to pull off despite the fact gossip here can run from mouth to mouth faster than an SEC wide receiver can run for the end zone.

The party was not the only surprise for Nanny. Gov. Robert Bentley had lunch with with her at the party and gave her a state of Alabama pin, shown in the picture Jonathan Hinton shared with me.

Nanny, a well-known Democrat, told me having her picture made with a Republican governor was not so bad, and that the party was a wonderful surprise.

"I thought we were going to Pizza Hut," she said.

That an 80-year-old local icon can have a surprise birthday attended by the governor and half the county is a reason I'm Lovin it in Limestone.

I love it even more that a rookie resident - like I was in 1997 - could know a woman only by the name Nanny and her Elvis Presley cake and feel at home.

Welcome to Lovin' it in Limestone

I love living in Limestone County, and I want to share my experiences and the interesting people I meet in this community. That's why I have started this blog and aptly named it, "Lovin' it in Limestone."

On Thursday, I greeted the pre-dawn hours sitting on the back of an Athens Fire and Rescue truck. My plan was to capture dawn breaking behind the smoldering ruins of Athens Church of God to symbolize how the worshippers plan to greet another day despite losing their building.

That plan fell apart when yet another storm front rumbled in like cannon with lightning flashing like air strikes and wind and rain charging through like an army. We all had to seek shelter in our vehicles.

It was eerie covering yet another attack from Mother Nature when the county still is recovering from the April 27 tornado outbreak. But it was also reassuring to meet storm victims like the worshippers and downtown business owners Derrick Young and Jerry Sandlin who plan to rebuild and recover.

That unbreakable spirit is but one of the reasons I'm Lovin' it in Limestone.