Two Moments of Amazement

Moment #1: Micah and I went to the gas station this afternoon, and the Valero at Route 1 and Raymond Road had regular gasoline for $1.73/cash, $1.83/credit. I could fill the tank for $20, which hasn't happened since I don't remember when. So my mind no longer has to expend energy on thoughts of auctioning one of Steve's kidneys on eBay to pay for gasoline. Three free brain cells, I don't know how I'll manage to put them to use.

Moment #2, in a completely different, unrelated, and sad vein:
Last week a Philadelphia police officer died in a collision with a drunk driver, if my memory of the what I read in the on-line Sunday Philadelphia Inquirer serves. Today was the funeral, and the only reason I know that is that Micah and I took a quick trip over to PA and once we were in the vicinity of the Street Road overpass on I-95 something was up. There were cars seeming to be parked there and on the shoulder of the road but not due to a breakdown, and more on the Academy Road overpass, and still more on the shoulder. Then I noticed there was not a single car coming up in the northbound lanes. Not one.

A few minutes later a stream of police vehicles and buses with lights flashing. I was still clueless, it looked like a massive prisoner transport or something. (Thanks to those two not-so marvelous years working at the NJDOC's reception facility.) Then I saw that every northbound on-ramp was blocked by Pennsylvania State Troopers. What was amazing wasn't that all that was happening, given enough manpower, blocking access to an interstate is just a question of logistics and manpower. It was the number of regular people on the shoulder of the interstate and on the overpasses, with flags, waiting to show their respect for the police officer that blew me away. How did they even know when the funeral cortege would be going past? How long did they wait, standing on the side of a grubby highway on a rather cold day?

After another pause, there was an enormous motorcycle escort, the hearse and the limousine with family and then more police cars and other vehicles coming behind, and coming, and coming for what seemed like forever. The motorcade was coming from downtown Philadelphia into Lower Bucks, just north of where I lived for my first couple of years out of school.

Micah slept through it all, otherwise he would have been looking at the spectacle going "Weeee-ooooh, weeee-ooooh," the standard response for flashing lights of any sort.