Arthur Ravenel Jr. Bridge -- What Happens When Ice Is On The Cable Stays...

The post below is from my barbieperkinscooper.com blog. For reasons I cannot explain, I cannot add photographs to that blog and wanted my readers to see the beauty of the stunning Arthur Ravenel, Jr. Bridge, a signature landmark for the City of Charleston, SC. Photography credit - Barbie Perkins-
Cooper. Copyright - Barbie Perkins-Cooper.



Dearest Readers:
My last post discussed briefly the issues we endured in Charleston, SC during our ‘winter storm.’ If you recall, the ice on the Arthur Ravenel, Jr. Bridge was an issue…one the engineers did not believe would be an issue. Statements were made that the ice would melt and not fall on cars. Damage to cars was not an issue — to the engineers.
DUH!?! I ask you, must one have an engineering degree to have just a bit of common sense???
Living in Mt. Pleasant, I drive across the Arthur Ravenel, Jr. Bridge almost daily and I hated that it was closed for such a long time, but I did consider that ice on the cable stays might be an issue. Others disagreed with me; however, when the ice began melting and falling from the cable stays, my theory was 100% correct. http://www.live5news.com/story/24599717/ravenel-bridge-shut-down-as-ice-falls-from-diamonds
When the breaking news about the falling ice was reported, cameras on the bridge showed viewers how large and dangerous the ice was. Reportedly, drivers dodged the ice, while other drivers were not so lucky! Photographs revealing shattered windshields and damaged cars demonstrated the danger better than any reporter could.
I phoned my husband who was back at work for the first time since the crippling winter storm. I suggested that he would probably be in another traffic jam on his drive home since the authorities appeared to be scratching their heads about when the bridge would reopen. “Let us use our common sense, people…If the bridge is losing icicles, is it a good idea to reopen until certain the ice has stopped dropping?”
Duh!
I do hope the engineers, SCDOT, and the authorities learned something about the bridge. Yes, it is beautiful. An amazing landmark for our beautiful city; however, when we have a rare occasion of ice and snow, those cables do freeze and it takes a bit of time for them to drop or melt from the cable stays. I doubt there is a de-ice that could be used. Those cable stays are not exactly easy to heat. Let’s not consider using a blow dryer! Mother Nature must do her job to allow the ice to melt. Perhaps next time a freak but beautiful winter storm comes our way, the authorities will remember the icing issues and keep the bridge closed UNTIL all the ice is melted. We are fortunate that a driver was not killed! Just picture it. You have a car with a sun roof. Ice crashes from the cable stays onto the sun roof. Would the driver actually survive this? I doubt it. The ice would be a missile exploding onto the sun roof, or windshield. We were blessed that God protected the city. All the engineers need is a bit of common sense while recognizing that no one can predict in what direction those icicles will drop. There are approximately 128 cable stays on the bridge. Next time, our city must be prepared. Yes, closing the bridge is an inconvenience; nevertheless, Charleston is not exactly a city known for bridges, or convenience along the roads. It took 10 hours during the last hurricane for my husband and I to drive 57 miles out of the city when we were told we must leave. Yes, I said — ten hours, to drive 57 miles! I love living in Charleston, but I do not like how this city does not plan for the future regarding traffic issues. If you move to Charleston, you must consider when we have storms, we are not as prepared as we should be.
Today, I am happy to report is a beautiful day of sunshine. No doubt the groundhog will see his shadow. Who cares! The weather in Charleston will change. Spring will soon arrive and all will be beautiful again. As for the bridges — only Mother Nature can control them or predict any dangers along the way. Happy and safe driving, Arthur Ravenel, Jr. Bridge drivers!

This is Just a Test

Since I'm somewhat new to 'blogging' I must remember to spell check, not only proof with my eyes. My earlier posting contained a typo. Cest la vie! Welcome to my life.

There is a spell check on this site, only I'm not certain it is working. Today I'm finding myself a bit annoyed at MYSELF, suppose it's a side effect of a migraine.

Maybe I'll preheat the oven, beat the He__ out of the cookie dough and bake. Years ago, with my son, I remember us baking Christmas cookies. Now, I want to create new traditions with my husband, only today, I appear to be a grouchy Mommy Dearest type of persona and I don't want to walk in her shoes again.

Maybe it is the holidays and the stress of life. Maybe it's the weather outside. I detest the grayness of winter. Hurry springtime. I miss the beauty of freshness and the scent of spring, even when my allergies kick in and sneezing is non-stop.

I'm off -- to bake. Who wants a cookie????????

When Migraines Bring Out the Beast

Have you ever had a day where you know, deep inside your heart, you should've turned the lights out, pulled the shades, and just remained in bed? Ever had a day where you truly wanted to run away -- from yourself?



Yesterday was such a day for me. Entering the gym for my daily work out, the music blared -- that is, IF you could call it music. I haven't a clue what the lyrics were. I did feel the music -- only it was pounding with a rap, bam, rap sound. I could literally feel the nerves inside my body tightening, like a pretzel. Quickly, I performed my work out routine - 85 sit ups, 85 side bends, 85 leg kicks, 85 chest and bust strengtheners. By the time I got to the leg machines, I decided to shorten the routine to 70. By now, the music is so annoying, I wanted to perform kick boxing, only I'm not a violent person. I chose to leave.

Driving from the West Ashley section of Charleston, topping our new bridge, Arthur Ravenel, Jr. Bridge, a tall cable stayed bridge, and a beautiful modern landmark for the City of Charleston, driving to Mt. Pleasant, I turned my radio off. I wanted quiet - nothing but quiet. When I got home, my pups rushed to greet me with their usual barking chatter. "Quiet," I said, rubbing my forehead, feeling the thumping drumming effect of a migraine headache. Moments later, the ringing telephone screamed for attention. So much for quiet, I thought to myself.

No matter what I did at home, I felt my body continue to tighten. Turning the washing machine on. Lights blaring in my eyes made me want to pull my eyes out. My pups barking to get inside. By now, I was more than a pretzel, more like a tightened screw inside a deep, dark hole.

"Breathe deeply," I whispered to myself. "Relax. Apply the motions and methods of Yoga."

"To Hell with Yoga," I screamed. "I need sleep."

I confess, I'd been awake since 4am. Insomnia is something I battle more than most people, and from what I'm told by my writer friends, insomnia is definitely a battle writers endure.

I played at the keyboard, polishing a story and sifting thru e-mail, I realized this was not a good, productive day for me. Ten minutes later, my head bursting, I chose to find my children (yes, my pups) and I shuffled my feet towards the bedroom, phoning my husband to let him know I had a migraine and was going back to bed, in hopes my exhausted body would be seduced into a soft, relaxing sleep. It didn't happen.

The phone rang three times and I was thankful for answer machines. Shakespeare moved closer to me, cuddling my neck, almost choking me. Shamus was curled at my feet. His warm bear fur toasting my feet. I surfed the TV channels, stopping to watch Paula Deen on Food Network, sufring more to listen to MSNBC. Big mistake. George Bush was on - no surprise there. Lately, he seems to have a daily chat at a press conference, managing to say -- NOTHING!

I turned the TV off, rolled over, stroked Shamus fur while listening to my breathing. I heard the back door shut. Phil was home. I struggled to my feet, anticipating a warm kiss to welcome him home. When he snapped a question my way, I exploded. I cannot recall what I said, but I do remember thinking - just where did those words come from? Must be the headache - not me!

I confess, when I get a migraine, I'm not a nice person. My temper is quick, my mouth explodes, and I truly want to run away -- from myself.

How does one run away from one's self? I've yet to figure that out. If you have any tips, please let me know.

A few hours later, I apologized to Phil, letting him know I was aware of how grouchy I was, and I was sorry for him to see that side of me. Migraine headaches bring out the beast inside of me. A beast I would prefer NO ONE ever seeing! I swallowed three more Advil - now within 24 hours, I had consumed six of them. I don't like being sedated, so I refuse to take other medications because I know my body well enough to know when a migraine attacks, I must give in to it. No noise. No food. No lights. No music. Nothing! Absolutely nothing but darkness and quiet.

I went to bed early, managing to sleep. Thank goodness for sleeping pills that I only take when I cannot stand being with myself.

Today is Friday - only a few days before Christmas. My Christmas cookie dough has been chilling since last Sunday. With the migraine gone, perhaps today I can bake the cookies I want to decorate and share with my neighbors, friends and loved ones.

Today is a new day, and the monster migraine headache is gone. My personality is back and maybe today, I will find just who I am.

Oh happy day!

While the Holidays Approach

Time continues to tick away. Tick tock. Tick tock...tick...tock...tick...

It seems everyone is busy at this time of year. Many of us are too busy to stop and enjoy the little things in life. I've been there, rushing and racing on that endless wheel, getting no where. Racing to meet deadlines now. Prior to this, I raced to meet the demands of the Corporate World. What a rat race that was!

Now, I've vowed to slow down - to enjoy the simplicity of life. After all, life is short. Every day we are hopeful to awaken to a 'brand new day.' While rushing to work, we meet the challenges, anticipating just a little more get up and go, or just a little more working until the dark of night, or -- just a little more -- until one day, or perhaps one night, something changes.

For me, it was the holidays of 1997 - I was trapped in a rat race of time at a university. Anxious and hopeful to make an impression, meet my goals and succeed. My job had become my career -- my life, until my dad phoned late one night stating that he wasn't feeling well and he thought he had cancer.

Just what was I thinking at that time? When he shared those observations about his health, I suppose I thought he was immune to illness. After all, he was my father. Nothing in life harmed him. He was the tower of strength. Never sick, never weak, and at 82 years of age, he still had a sharp mind and witty charm.

The next day I called in to work and visited with my dad at the E-R of Roper Hospital in Charleston, SC. I comforted dad when he grew irritated, telling him we would know something soon. I was convinced that the only thing wrong with him was an improper diet. My father lived in a retirement community, on a fixed income. He purchased only what he could afford to eat, and he was too independent and proud to accept money from me. On occasions when I offered him money, he threw it back at me. Nevertheless, when I baked goodies, or shared a casserole, he was thrilled to have something baked from home. Dad was a proud and stubborn man, and I am just like him!

After too many hours of waiting in E-R, the doctors informed us that Dad was being released. We were encouraged to make an appointment with a gastroenterologist.

December 1997 - Dad was scheduled to have an endoscopy. Convinced that he was not ill, I drove him to the hospital. For hours I sat, all alone. Cell phone turned off since the hospital did not allow cell phones. In the late afternoon, I watched Dad's doctor approaching me. His shoulders were slumped. The vacant stare in his eyes told me more than I wanted to know. I remember hearing the dreaded, poisonous word "cancer," and I remember screaming.

Later, the doctors asked me what I wanted them to do. I let them know that this was not my decision, and whatever he decided, I would support my dad's decision.

Esophageal cancer is dreadful. Dad endured many days without the ability to eat or drink. He weighed only 110 pounds and was melting away. Finally, the decision was made. I visited daily, feeling as if the hospital was now my home. I sat for hours watching the toxic poison of chemotherapy dripping into my dad's emaciated body. I strove to be strong around Dad. The Atrium at Roper Hospital was my solitude and I spent many hours crying while listening to a waterfall, rush hour traffic and the rat race of life. I could not allow my emotions to crumble around my dad. I had to be strong -- just like him.

For two years, I watched Dad battle cancer, while he taught me how to forgive and to move forward with life. For two years, I bonded closer with him and my life is stronger and better because of the time we shared. There were times of laughter, and a few tears.

I lost my dad on July 6, 1999 while I was approaching his room for my daily visit. So like him to call the last shots. Earlier in the day I had phoned the nurses' desk at Sandpiper Convalescent Center to see how he was doing. I was told he was fine, laughing and reading his daily newspaper. Isn't it strange how one moment things in life can be fine, then suddenly, just like a quick breath of wind, things change.

Now, seven years later, I am far stronger and a more productive and determined individual for knowing and loving my dad. I cherish the memories we made during his illness. If I could take a step back, before the invasion of cancer in 1997, there are so many things I would change. I would break away from the rat race of Corporate Life and enjoy the little things. But -- I cannot take a step back. Life doesn't rewind. I can move forward and live my life with richness, and much passion and that is what I have vowed to do for the rest of my life. After all, God has given me a talent to write and to share emotions and passions that many people fear.

What would you change if you could break away from the rat race?

Let us all make the time to enjoy the little things in life - the little pleasures like a child giggling with delight. The smile from someone we've never met. Smelling the salt air, or the freshness of life after a rainfall.

Enjoy your life while making the most of life.

I wish you a Happy and Merry Christmas season, and a great 2007!

What is This Role of a Writer?

A writer's life is a life filled with intrigue, creativity, influence, and curiosity. Writers are famous for being temperamental and are typecast as being extremely difficult to live with, especially when the virus of writer's block threatens the train of thought. Some writers are college graduates; some are simply graduates of the hard roads of life, or the school of hard knocks.
To qualify for this invigorating, somewhat excruciating lifestyle, a person needs to have the will and determination to accept rejections, the perseverance to try again, and the strength to survive whenever the chips are down.
The writer must be able to express him or herself in a manner that is confident and easily understood. A writer is a communicator. He needs to feel comfortable sharing human experiences. He must be expressive and able to let others share his pain, or his joy. Knowledge of the English language, sentence structures, composition, and how to organize thoughts in a comprehensive order is imperative. The writer must pay close attention to details, characterizations, and life. He has the ability to express what others can only feel, with a passion and sensitivity that can touch hearts and change lives.
Many writers share a knowledge and intense hunger for deep feelings and an endless curiosity about the world and the people that surround it. Writers are creative, dramatic, and resourceful. They understand words and the power behind those words. Writers have a never-ending hunger for life.
Overall, the writer is a person who is determined to explore and create. He is most happy when the words flow without a struggle. He is committed and establishes goals for himself. Some of those goals seem impossible to reach, but when they are reached, the rewards are worth the struggles and pain of rejection.


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