rambling rosemarie

Last night I was trying desperately to talk a friend from high school out of going into the dark of night to look for something or someone. I pleaded with her that it wasn't safe. My stomach was in a tight knot and my throat muscles were aching with tension. Tears spilled down my face. I had her hand in a death grip and then she vanished. Deep grief spilled out of my soul and into my dream. I was crying out for her children when I woke up. The friend I was dreaming about died several years ago. We had lost touch as is often the case with people leaving high school and going where their adult lives take them. I remember hearing about her passing and wanting to make contact with her children. They have no idea who I am and I really have nothing to offer them except to tell them that she and I had once been friends. She was kind and funny and we shared some confidences. All that is ancient history. It wasn't an underlying sense of guilt or grief for my high school friend tha...

April 14, 1989 I was driving home from a specialized training seminar in emergency management. Two of my co-workers were with me. Anxious to return home and avoid rush-hour traffic, we were making fairly good time traveling northbound on Hwy 101. We were tired of being away from our families and friends. Perhaps we were a little tired of each other, I don’t know. I don’t remember exactly why we were listening to the radio, but we were. A news story caught our attention and held it. There had been multiple homicides in our county and the suspect, Ramon Salcido, was being hunted by every law enforcement agency in California. I remember feeling sorry for the dispatchers, detectives and deputies that were working. Joseph Wambaugh once wrote that law enforcement consisted of “hours of boredom punctuated by moments of sheer terror.” Working in public safety is akin to being on an adrenaline roller coaster and nothing got everyone’s adrenaline going more than a homicide. If I am to be ho...