When I got back to work on Wednesday everything was a bit of a mess--my boss was in the hospital, a sales rep was about to go on vacation and was coming unglued in front of my eyes, and our office guy who answers the phone went on vacation. I went from complete and utter peace in Fresno to having to be the smartest one of the bunch again, and I couldn't see the forest for the trees in a lot of scenarios. I hate having to be "on" all the time. I gave up and let some things slide in all the variables.
Thursday morning/afternoon as I was wolfing my lunch and juggling more decisions to keep the guys on track I hopped on SFGate.com to tune in for a moment and found another person in charge who let the variables get away from him--pilot John Cota for the container ship Cosco Busan. For those of my readers not in the Bay Area, this was the ship that struck a Bay Bridge tower on Wednesday and ripped a gash in the hull that leaked 58,000 gallons of bunker oil into the Bay and, subsequently, the ocean.
There are a lot of scenarios that one could imagine for Cota right now, as to what is going through his mind. My mother's daughter believes he is probably suffering the tortures of the damned. My father's daughter believes he is somewhere smug, relieved that the best lawyer will relieve him of all responsibility and give all that responsibility to instruments on a panel. And just the process of looking for someone or something to blame is a disheartening process--instruments? Fog? Pilot ambivalent in these conditions? "Make 'em pay!" Yes, the shipping company should pay, but even if they pay for the entire clean-up someone will still be calling them a scumbag for what happened, as if hurling insults would change the past. As if a lawsuit would change the past.
I love the Embarcadero, Mission Creek, and Ocean Beach. I know that if I go to these places today my heart will hurt. And I know exactly what it will hurt like, I know what shape the pain will take. It will bear a strong resemblence to the pain I felt the week of February 24th of this year, when I had to make an emergency trip to Fresno and didn't make it in time to usher out the life of a little Girl who ate contaminated food. When I think of what the Bay is going to look like, my heart breaks in the same way that it broke for Bess. My brother asked me then, "Are you going to sue them? I think you should..."
Her life meant more to me than that. The Bay means more to me than that. The wildlife of the Bay, the Bay's shape and color and aura, these things are what kept me in place when the Bay's people behave/behaved like children.
I'm not angry, Mr. Cota. I'm in angry, California. I'm heartsick that this happened...when the blame flies it doesn't help. "Sue their asses!"
Yeah, because God knows that solves everything.
Thursday morning/afternoon as I was wolfing my lunch and juggling more decisions to keep the guys on track I hopped on SFGate.com to tune in for a moment and found another person in charge who let the variables get away from him--pilot John Cota for the container ship Cosco Busan. For those of my readers not in the Bay Area, this was the ship that struck a Bay Bridge tower on Wednesday and ripped a gash in the hull that leaked 58,000 gallons of bunker oil into the Bay and, subsequently, the ocean.
There are a lot of scenarios that one could imagine for Cota right now, as to what is going through his mind. My mother's daughter believes he is probably suffering the tortures of the damned. My father's daughter believes he is somewhere smug, relieved that the best lawyer will relieve him of all responsibility and give all that responsibility to instruments on a panel. And just the process of looking for someone or something to blame is a disheartening process--instruments? Fog? Pilot ambivalent in these conditions? "Make 'em pay!" Yes, the shipping company should pay, but even if they pay for the entire clean-up someone will still be calling them a scumbag for what happened, as if hurling insults would change the past. As if a lawsuit would change the past.
I love the Embarcadero, Mission Creek, and Ocean Beach. I know that if I go to these places today my heart will hurt. And I know exactly what it will hurt like, I know what shape the pain will take. It will bear a strong resemblence to the pain I felt the week of February 24th of this year, when I had to make an emergency trip to Fresno and didn't make it in time to usher out the life of a little Girl who ate contaminated food. When I think of what the Bay is going to look like, my heart breaks in the same way that it broke for Bess. My brother asked me then, "Are you going to sue them? I think you should..."
Her life meant more to me than that. The Bay means more to me than that. The wildlife of the Bay, the Bay's shape and color and aura, these things are what kept me in place when the Bay's people behave/behaved like children.
I'm not angry, Mr. Cota. I'm in angry, California. I'm heartsick that this happened...when the blame flies it doesn't help. "Sue their asses!"
Yeah, because God knows that solves everything.
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