Opinions

I remember being told I was “all wet” when I was completely mistaken about something– as when I was positive that there was, somewhere down there around Tennessee or Arkansas, a state named Dixie. People talked about it as if it were a state; there were even songs about it. It took a lot of proof to convince me that I was totally wrong. I’m not sure where the expression “all wet” came from, but my dictionary includes “badly mistaken” as a distinct and specific use of the term.

Not long ago, anchorwoman Diane Sawyer described a program in a small southern town where people of all ages can “pay forward” with three hours of their services and later receive three hours of free help from someone else. This sounds like a sort of barter system similar to one that operated in the Iowa City area 15 or 20-some years ago.

As a North Liberty resident, I find it easy to feel insulated from big city problems. I don’t think my neighbors are hungry. I don’t worry that they are abused, unable to pay their bills, or struggling with mental illness
Local statistics shatter those illusions:

Does anyone know where the love of God goes when the siren turns the minutes to hours?
As detailed last week, Sabra suffered a stroke completely out of the blue on a recent Saturday afternoon. She called 911 and the emergency dispatchers called me. I arrived at the house just in time to see her being wheeled out and followed the ambulance to the hospital. At first the van with the big red crosses and “emergency vehicle” stenciled on all sides drove at the speed limit but suddenly the sirens and lights came on and it took off at full speed.

A few weeks ago on a Saturday afternoon, Sabra swept snow off the deck and suddenly joined a group that draws nearly 800,000 new members in the U.S. each year: people suffering a stroke.
I was running errands in Iowa City at the time but from what I’ve learned since she had several of the classic signs: a sudden and severe headache, neck pain and nausea.