Thursday, March 31, 2005
A DEATH IN THE FAMILY
Don't panic, everyone in my family is fine. But I still feel as I've lost a dear friend - and I almost did. You see, my friend's VW Bus blew up. And her husband narrowly escaped going with it.
Michelle is one of my closest friends in the world. She is the type of friend everyone hopes to have - a sweet and generous disposition, slow to anger, quick to forgive and even quicker to laugh.
Michelle has worked for our company for a good while longer than I have. She started in Los Angeles, and then when that office closed she migrated to Houston. Throughout those years she kept up an on-again off-again dating relationship with Darren, who lived in their hometown in Washington State. When Darren finally had enough of the on-again off-again situation, he packed up his beloved 1970s-era VW Bus and drove it all the way down to Houston. I'm not sure The Bus ever left Texas again.
The Bus - and it was never called anything else - was the ugliest monstrosity you could ever imagine in your driveway. I think the roof was white, or what used to pass for white. The primary color was, well, primer. I've never envisioned The Bus with a wax job. The interior was threadbare tweed and warped plywood cabinetry, as best I remember. Heck, I didn't even know it was running when it passed away.
The Bus was as much a member of Michelle and Darren's family as their daughter Molly and their dog Tanner. The entire time I've known Michelle, The Bus has been a fixture in her driveway. Michelle and Darren could never willingly part with it, although they tossed the idea around once or twice. It just had too many memories for them. The Bus had, literally and figuratively, driven Michelle and Darren from childhood through young love and into adulthood and their family life together.
Michelle's neighbor summed up the details in an email update to his family:
As we talked to Bill, I saw a green car pull into the Greenwoods' driveway. I had not seen it before, so I kept watch. Eventually, Michelle and Molly appeared, and Michelle was carrying a child's car seat. M&M walked toward us and Michelle, carrying the car seat and other things, looked like a refugee in the Balkans.
She had a story to tell, too.
"I have not had any sleep since 3 a.m. this morning," she said. What she said calmly was horrific.
Last night when Darren was driving home from the Hobbit restaurant in the van he was on Bingle near West Little York when he discovered the van was on fire. He pulled onto the shoulder and rushed outside and within seconds the van exploded with such fury parts of it flew into the gate at Cameron Industries and melted the lock on the gate.
Darren began running toward home and stopped twice at grocery stores, including Randall's, to use the telephones but the telephones did not work (his cell phone was in the van). He ran all the way home -- I think it is more than two miles -- to wake up Michelle, and they went back in the Ford Explorer.
Not much was left except scorched pavement and melted metal.
To say the least, it was tearful for Darren. It wasn't so much that he barely escaped death, it was the realization that the fire started in the back of the van where the motor is and probably started on the freeway, but winds kept it unnoticed until he left the freeway - in the back is where Molly sits in her car seat. Had she been there....
Also he has kept the van running for 15 years, making most repairs himself, and he dearly loved it. (I remember riding in a van like that when I lived in New York in the late 1960's.)
Besides the cell phone, there were other items in the van which Darren and Michelle are now remembering.
Molly says "The van is gone," but I doubt she knows what that means. She tired of our conversation and kept saying she wanted some chocolate, so we eventually went across the street and got her some chocolate.
Some day she will be told what happened March 28, 2005, and will understand why her father had tears that day.
I'll be hugging my dear friends a little closer tomorrow...
- - -
Michelle is one of my closest friends in the world. She is the type of friend everyone hopes to have - a sweet and generous disposition, slow to anger, quick to forgive and even quicker to laugh.
Michelle has worked for our company for a good while longer than I have. She started in Los Angeles, and then when that office closed she migrated to Houston. Throughout those years she kept up an on-again off-again dating relationship with Darren, who lived in their hometown in Washington State. When Darren finally had enough of the on-again off-again situation, he packed up his beloved 1970s-era VW Bus and drove it all the way down to Houston. I'm not sure The Bus ever left Texas again.
The Bus - and it was never called anything else - was the ugliest monstrosity you could ever imagine in your driveway. I think the roof was white, or what used to pass for white. The primary color was, well, primer. I've never envisioned The Bus with a wax job. The interior was threadbare tweed and warped plywood cabinetry, as best I remember. Heck, I didn't even know it was running when it passed away.
The Bus was as much a member of Michelle and Darren's family as their daughter Molly and their dog Tanner. The entire time I've known Michelle, The Bus has been a fixture in her driveway. Michelle and Darren could never willingly part with it, although they tossed the idea around once or twice. It just had too many memories for them. The Bus had, literally and figuratively, driven Michelle and Darren from childhood through young love and into adulthood and their family life together.
Michelle's neighbor summed up the details in an email update to his family:
As we talked to Bill, I saw a green car pull into the Greenwoods' driveway. I had not seen it before, so I kept watch. Eventually, Michelle and Molly appeared, and Michelle was carrying a child's car seat. M&M walked toward us and Michelle, carrying the car seat and other things, looked like a refugee in the Balkans.
She had a story to tell, too.
"I have not had any sleep since 3 a.m. this morning," she said. What she said calmly was horrific.
Last night when Darren was driving home from the Hobbit restaurant in the van he was on Bingle near West Little York when he discovered the van was on fire. He pulled onto the shoulder and rushed outside and within seconds the van exploded with such fury parts of it flew into the gate at Cameron Industries and melted the lock on the gate.
Darren began running toward home and stopped twice at grocery stores, including Randall's, to use the telephones but the telephones did not work (his cell phone was in the van). He ran all the way home -- I think it is more than two miles -- to wake up Michelle, and they went back in the Ford Explorer.
Not much was left except scorched pavement and melted metal.
To say the least, it was tearful for Darren. It wasn't so much that he barely escaped death, it was the realization that the fire started in the back of the van where the motor is and probably started on the freeway, but winds kept it unnoticed until he left the freeway - in the back is where Molly sits in her car seat. Had she been there....
Also he has kept the van running for 15 years, making most repairs himself, and he dearly loved it. (I remember riding in a van like that when I lived in New York in the late 1960's.)
Besides the cell phone, there were other items in the van which Darren and Michelle are now remembering.
Molly says "The van is gone," but I doubt she knows what that means. She tired of our conversation and kept saying she wanted some chocolate, so we eventually went across the street and got her some chocolate.
Some day she will be told what happened March 28, 2005, and will understand why her father had tears that day.
I'll be hugging my dear friends a little closer tomorrow...
- - -
Friday, March 11, 2005
DID I MENTION I LOVE TO TRAVEL?
One of my Christmas gifts was a simple spiral notebook from my Mom. Over the holidays, I took it with me as I traveled to Europe. My goal is to take it with me and write something in it on each international trip. Here was my first trip with my little notebook, to Brussels...
28DEC04 6pm
Au brassiere Cafe
Brussels, Belgium
I am in love with Brussels.
My internet access is limited to the cafe around the corner, which costs 1.25 Euros per 30 minutes. So, this little spiral journal will have to suffice until I get home. I've already popped in once to glance through email and IM Mom via Yahoo. It took me most of the 30 minutes just to master the keyboard and find the @ so I could sign into email. So, until I get home this notebook will do.
Mom was so proud of this notebook. "Look Cathy, it's got cats all over it," she pointed out as we were exchanging gifts on Christmas Eve.
"Um, no, actually they're dogs," I replied. "They even have a fire hydrant in the corner."
Little did I know how much I would come to appreciate my little spiral notebook. It's really cute, and now it will be put to use. I don't always have access to the internet, but I always have pen and paper. So, this will become my travel journal. I want to know where Mom bought this. I will want more of these notebooks.
Enough of the logistics. I've stopped into an inviting little pub near the Grand Place for Vin Chaud - hot spiced wine. I'm traveling alone, something I've started doing this year and grown to enjoy. I find that my senses are heightened. My ear picks up all of the different languages - French, Dutch, German and English are the dominant tongues du jour. I see more, smell more, hear more, feel more when I am traveling alone.
My table mates just left to catch their train home to London. They were visiting Antwerp for a few days, but became bored and stopped in Brussels for a day before heading home. As is usually the case when encountering an American, the conversation drifts to politics. I made it clear that I did not support our pResident. One of my British table mates works for a U.S. based law firm, and he said the day after our election the mood was somber at his law office. I told them how much I enjoy reading the British press online, especially the Guardian. "How can 59 Million Americans be so stupid?" screamed the headline the day after the election. God bless the Brits.
A young couple just walked in. A mixed race couple - white female and black male. I mention this because it's a common sight here. No one seems to think twice about it. This afternoon I sat in a restaurant enjoying a leisurely lunch and watched all of Brussels pass by my window - businessmen, elderly women in their fur coats, old men with their fedoras and canes, and families of all races. The most interesting was a couple in their 40s or 50s towing three small children. The couple was white, the children were all black.
I use the term "white" and "black" here to note skin color. I have no way of knowing what nationality anyone is here. Brussels is home to both NATO and the European Union, so a large number of the residents here are foreign nationals.
My deux vin chauds (that's two hot wines) have disappeared and my hand is starting to cramp. I haven't written this much by hand in a long time. My waitress has just informed me that she's off duty and it's time to pay. My bill is 5.20 Euros. It's time to move on.
________________________________________________________
28DEC04
Nuits Saint-Georges
Brussels, Belgium
I wandered back through the Grand Place - pronounced "Grond Plos" - and a grand place it truly is.
For centuries it's been the heart of Brussels, and tonight it's spectacularly lit. Music is playing throughout, the ancient buildings are lit up, and everyone is strolling around absorbing it all.
I've stopped for a bite of dineur - across the narrow cobblestone street from where I ate lunch, it turns out. This is a small casual restaurant with a menu boasting at least six different ways of cooking moules. That's what brought me in - the Plat du Jour is Moules y Frites. I was served a pot of mussels cooked in a white wine and garlic broth loaded with onions and some kind of greens. I ate the whole pot, and enjoyed it so much I requested bread to eat with the broth when the moules were gone.
I almost left when I realized there was a large family inside - three adults and FIVE little girls who appeared to range in age from about six to nine years. FIVE! And they were OBNOXIOUS! Thankfully they finished their dinner in short order and didn't linger after dinner, which is the European custom. I was horrified to hear them speaking English, until I realized I was hearing a British accent. All I could think was "thank goodness they're not American."
My food is cleared from the table and I've ordered my dessert - a "decaf cafe creme." No more sweets for me tonight, but I'll linger over a cup of coffee and enjoy the conversation with the couple at the next table. They're yet another mixed race couple - black male and Asian female. Both are young, and they're obviously in love. She is a native of Hong Kong, he is a native of the French West Indies. He's been studying in Paris. He asked how much of France I've seen, and seemed impressed that I've been to the Riviera. I went about eight years ago - my very first time overseas. What a culture shock THAT was. Stupid me, I wore bright red and looked the part of the Obnoxious American. Thankfully I was visiting friends whe were working in Nice, so I didn't have to get around on my own the whole time.
The cafe is average - for Europe, that is. It's still tons better than anything I'd get at home. I learned how to order cafe on my first overseas trip - the one to the Riviera. I was traveling with my friend Michelle.
"You always get the right coffee!" she exclaimed after the third day of our short four-day trip.
"Cafe creme," I told her. It's always been my favorite. Thick, rich coffee with cream. Maybe a spoon of sugar, but nothing more. It's perfect.
Speaking of perfect, my waiter has discovered I'm American and has brought me another cafe creme - "On the house" he informs me in impeccable English. I've asked for the check but it still has not arrived. The restaurant is deserted now, except for me and an older gentleman who is slowly working on his second carafe of wine. It's after 9pm and I'll close my book and slowly wander back to the hotel.
The bill has arrived - 14.50 Euros. I sign it for 16 Euros - it is customary to round up and add a Euro or two if the service warrants. Wait staff in Europe are paid decent wages, and tips are "extra" - not how they make their living wage. The more time I spend in Europe, the more I appreciate it and find fault with my beloved home country. I said in a previous post that I would be using my passport a lot more after this last election. I will be spending as much time and money as I can in countries where I and my beliefs are welcome. For a few days my home is Brussels.
_______________________________________________________
29DEC04
Brussels, Belgium
I really must learn more French.
I've learned how to dress like the Europeans - lots of black, very little color, absolutely no white sneakers or anything that would physically identify me as American. But as soon as I enter a restaurant and reply "bon soir" to the waiter, I am handed a menu in English.
I look the part enough, that's for sure. It never fails. Each time I'm in a European city - Paris, Amsterdam, now Brussels - I am stopped on the street and asked for directions as if I'm a native. Yesterday it was three French teenagers asking for directions to the Metro. I asked if they spoke English, and one did. I could get them to the nearest bus stop, but I had no idea where the Metro - the tram service - was. I've been on foot since I arrived.
I have enjoyed eating out alone. This will come as quite a shock to some of my friends at home. When I worked shift work at my old job, I usually worked second shift. My work day began at 2:30pm, and I would walk in every day hungry because I didn't enjoy eating by myself. To me, mealtime is a special occasion that should be spend with family or friends. But in Europe, it's easy to eat a meal alone. The tables are usually so close together that you are invariably drawn into the conversations and the habits of the tables next to you.
(At this point my table mates decided to add to my book...)
How are you doing?
= Comment allez vous?
Very good
= tres bien
Can I have the bill please?
= Puis-je avoir l'addition s'il vous plait?
A lot of greetings from An, Thierry and Karel.
Hope to see you back! Always welcome back in Europe!
And there my journal ends for this trip. But there will be others. There will be lots of others.
28DEC04 6pm
Au brassiere Cafe
Brussels, Belgium
I am in love with Brussels.
My internet access is limited to the cafe around the corner, which costs 1.25 Euros per 30 minutes. So, this little spiral journal will have to suffice until I get home. I've already popped in once to glance through email and IM Mom via Yahoo. It took me most of the 30 minutes just to master the keyboard and find the @ so I could sign into email. So, until I get home this notebook will do.
Mom was so proud of this notebook. "Look Cathy, it's got cats all over it," she pointed out as we were exchanging gifts on Christmas Eve.
"Um, no, actually they're dogs," I replied. "They even have a fire hydrant in the corner."
Little did I know how much I would come to appreciate my little spiral notebook. It's really cute, and now it will be put to use. I don't always have access to the internet, but I always have pen and paper. So, this will become my travel journal. I want to know where Mom bought this. I will want more of these notebooks.
Enough of the logistics. I've stopped into an inviting little pub near the Grand Place for Vin Chaud - hot spiced wine. I'm traveling alone, something I've started doing this year and grown to enjoy. I find that my senses are heightened. My ear picks up all of the different languages - French, Dutch, German and English are the dominant tongues du jour. I see more, smell more, hear more, feel more when I am traveling alone.
My table mates just left to catch their train home to London. They were visiting Antwerp for a few days, but became bored and stopped in Brussels for a day before heading home. As is usually the case when encountering an American, the conversation drifts to politics. I made it clear that I did not support our pResident. One of my British table mates works for a U.S. based law firm, and he said the day after our election the mood was somber at his law office. I told them how much I enjoy reading the British press online, especially the Guardian. "How can 59 Million Americans be so stupid?" screamed the headline the day after the election. God bless the Brits.
A young couple just walked in. A mixed race couple - white female and black male. I mention this because it's a common sight here. No one seems to think twice about it. This afternoon I sat in a restaurant enjoying a leisurely lunch and watched all of Brussels pass by my window - businessmen, elderly women in their fur coats, old men with their fedoras and canes, and families of all races. The most interesting was a couple in their 40s or 50s towing three small children. The couple was white, the children were all black.
I use the term "white" and "black" here to note skin color. I have no way of knowing what nationality anyone is here. Brussels is home to both NATO and the European Union, so a large number of the residents here are foreign nationals.
My deux vin chauds (that's two hot wines) have disappeared and my hand is starting to cramp. I haven't written this much by hand in a long time. My waitress has just informed me that she's off duty and it's time to pay. My bill is 5.20 Euros. It's time to move on.
________________________________________________________
28DEC04
Nuits Saint-Georges
Brussels, Belgium
I wandered back through the Grand Place - pronounced "Grond Plos" - and a grand place it truly is.
For centuries it's been the heart of Brussels, and tonight it's spectacularly lit. Music is playing throughout, the ancient buildings are lit up, and everyone is strolling around absorbing it all.
I've stopped for a bite of dineur - across the narrow cobblestone street from where I ate lunch, it turns out. This is a small casual restaurant with a menu boasting at least six different ways of cooking moules. That's what brought me in - the Plat du Jour is Moules y Frites. I was served a pot of mussels cooked in a white wine and garlic broth loaded with onions and some kind of greens. I ate the whole pot, and enjoyed it so much I requested bread to eat with the broth when the moules were gone.
I almost left when I realized there was a large family inside - three adults and FIVE little girls who appeared to range in age from about six to nine years. FIVE! And they were OBNOXIOUS! Thankfully they finished their dinner in short order and didn't linger after dinner, which is the European custom. I was horrified to hear them speaking English, until I realized I was hearing a British accent. All I could think was "thank goodness they're not American."
My food is cleared from the table and I've ordered my dessert - a "decaf cafe creme." No more sweets for me tonight, but I'll linger over a cup of coffee and enjoy the conversation with the couple at the next table. They're yet another mixed race couple - black male and Asian female. Both are young, and they're obviously in love. She is a native of Hong Kong, he is a native of the French West Indies. He's been studying in Paris. He asked how much of France I've seen, and seemed impressed that I've been to the Riviera. I went about eight years ago - my very first time overseas. What a culture shock THAT was. Stupid me, I wore bright red and looked the part of the Obnoxious American. Thankfully I was visiting friends whe were working in Nice, so I didn't have to get around on my own the whole time.
The cafe is average - for Europe, that is. It's still tons better than anything I'd get at home. I learned how to order cafe on my first overseas trip - the one to the Riviera. I was traveling with my friend Michelle.
"You always get the right coffee!" she exclaimed after the third day of our short four-day trip.
"Cafe creme," I told her. It's always been my favorite. Thick, rich coffee with cream. Maybe a spoon of sugar, but nothing more. It's perfect.
Speaking of perfect, my waiter has discovered I'm American and has brought me another cafe creme - "On the house" he informs me in impeccable English. I've asked for the check but it still has not arrived. The restaurant is deserted now, except for me and an older gentleman who is slowly working on his second carafe of wine. It's after 9pm and I'll close my book and slowly wander back to the hotel.
The bill has arrived - 14.50 Euros. I sign it for 16 Euros - it is customary to round up and add a Euro or two if the service warrants. Wait staff in Europe are paid decent wages, and tips are "extra" - not how they make their living wage. The more time I spend in Europe, the more I appreciate it and find fault with my beloved home country. I said in a previous post that I would be using my passport a lot more after this last election. I will be spending as much time and money as I can in countries where I and my beliefs are welcome. For a few days my home is Brussels.
_______________________________________________________
29DEC04
Brussels, Belgium
I really must learn more French.
I've learned how to dress like the Europeans - lots of black, very little color, absolutely no white sneakers or anything that would physically identify me as American. But as soon as I enter a restaurant and reply "bon soir" to the waiter, I am handed a menu in English.
I look the part enough, that's for sure. It never fails. Each time I'm in a European city - Paris, Amsterdam, now Brussels - I am stopped on the street and asked for directions as if I'm a native. Yesterday it was three French teenagers asking for directions to the Metro. I asked if they spoke English, and one did. I could get them to the nearest bus stop, but I had no idea where the Metro - the tram service - was. I've been on foot since I arrived.
I have enjoyed eating out alone. This will come as quite a shock to some of my friends at home. When I worked shift work at my old job, I usually worked second shift. My work day began at 2:30pm, and I would walk in every day hungry because I didn't enjoy eating by myself. To me, mealtime is a special occasion that should be spend with family or friends. But in Europe, it's easy to eat a meal alone. The tables are usually so close together that you are invariably drawn into the conversations and the habits of the tables next to you.
(At this point my table mates decided to add to my book...)
How are you doing?
= Comment allez vous?
Very good
= tres bien
Can I have the bill please?
= Puis-je avoir l'addition s'il vous plait?
A lot of greetings from An, Thierry and Karel.
Hope to see you back! Always welcome back in Europe!
And there my journal ends for this trip. But there will be others. There will be lots of others.
HCDP's NEW BLOG IS ROLLING
And they have a link to me. I guess this means I should be a little more prolific in my posts.
You can catch the new Harris County Democratic Party's blog here.
I'm off to pack for an overnight to Oslo...
You can catch the new Harris County Democratic Party's blog here.
I'm off to pack for an overnight to Oslo...
Thursday, March 03, 2005
DEAR GOD...
Sometimes we forget how profound children can be. This post came from an email that a friend sent today. I've longed to ask some of these questions myself...
1. Dear God, please put another holiday between Christmas and Easter. There is nothing good in there now. - Amanda
2. Dear God, Thank you for the baby brother but what I asked for was a puppy. I never asked for anything before. You can look it up. - Joyce
3. Dear Mr. God, I wish you would not make it so easy for people to come apart. I had to have 3 stitches and a shot.
4. God, I read the Bible. What does beget mean? Nobody will tell me. Love, Fred
5. Dear God, how did you know you were God? Who told you? - Charlene
6. Dear God, is it true my father won't get in Heaven if he uses his golf words in the house? -Anita
7. Dear God, I bet it's very hard for you to love all of everybody in the whole world. There are only 4 people in our family and I can never do it. - Nancy
8. Dear God, I like the story about Noah the best of all of them. You really made up some good ones. I like walking on water, too. - Glenn
9. Dear God, my Grandpa says you were around when he was a little boy. How far back do you go? Love, Dennis
10. Dear God, do you draw the lines around the countries? If you don't, who does? - Nathan
11. Dear God, did you mean for giraffes to look like that or was it an accident? - Norma
12. Dear God, in Bible times, did they really talk that fancy? Jennifer
13. Dear God, how come you did all those miracles in the old days and don't do any now? - Billy
14. Dear God, please send Dennis Clark to a different summer camp this year. - Peter
15. Dear God, maybe Cain and Abel would not kill each other so much if they each had their own rooms. It works out OK with me and my brother. - Larry
16. Dear God, I keep waiting for spring, but it never did come yet. What's up? Don't forget. - Mark
17. Dear God, my brother told me about how you are born but it just doesn't sound right. What do you say? - Marsha
18. Dear God, if you watch in Church on Sunday I will show you my new shoes. - Barbara
19. Dear God, is Reverend Coe a friend of yours, or do you just know him through the business? - Donny
20. Dear God, I do not think anybody could be a better God than you. Well, I just want you to know that. I am not just saying that because you are already God. - Charles
21. Dear God, it is great the way you always get the stars in the right place. Why can't you do that with the moon?
22. Dear God, I am doing the best I can. Really. - Frank
And, saving the best for last:
23. Dear God, I didn't think orange went with purple until I saw the sunset you made on Tuesday night. That was really cool. - Thomas
1. Dear God, please put another holiday between Christmas and Easter. There is nothing good in there now. - Amanda
2. Dear God, Thank you for the baby brother but what I asked for was a puppy. I never asked for anything before. You can look it up. - Joyce
3. Dear Mr. God, I wish you would not make it so easy for people to come apart. I had to have 3 stitches and a shot.
4. God, I read the Bible. What does beget mean? Nobody will tell me. Love, Fred
5. Dear God, how did you know you were God? Who told you? - Charlene
6. Dear God, is it true my father won't get in Heaven if he uses his golf words in the house? -Anita
7. Dear God, I bet it's very hard for you to love all of everybody in the whole world. There are only 4 people in our family and I can never do it. - Nancy
8. Dear God, I like the story about Noah the best of all of them. You really made up some good ones. I like walking on water, too. - Glenn
9. Dear God, my Grandpa says you were around when he was a little boy. How far back do you go? Love, Dennis
10. Dear God, do you draw the lines around the countries? If you don't, who does? - Nathan
11. Dear God, did you mean for giraffes to look like that or was it an accident? - Norma
12. Dear God, in Bible times, did they really talk that fancy? Jennifer
13. Dear God, how come you did all those miracles in the old days and don't do any now? - Billy
14. Dear God, please send Dennis Clark to a different summer camp this year. - Peter
15. Dear God, maybe Cain and Abel would not kill each other so much if they each had their own rooms. It works out OK with me and my brother. - Larry
16. Dear God, I keep waiting for spring, but it never did come yet. What's up? Don't forget. - Mark
17. Dear God, my brother told me about how you are born but it just doesn't sound right. What do you say? - Marsha
18. Dear God, if you watch in Church on Sunday I will show you my new shoes. - Barbara
19. Dear God, is Reverend Coe a friend of yours, or do you just know him through the business? - Donny
20. Dear God, I do not think anybody could be a better God than you. Well, I just want you to know that. I am not just saying that because you are already God. - Charles
21. Dear God, it is great the way you always get the stars in the right place. Why can't you do that with the moon?
22. Dear God, I am doing the best I can. Really. - Frank
And, saving the best for last:
23. Dear God, I didn't think orange went with purple until I saw the sunset you made on Tuesday night. That was really cool. - Thomas
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