| 14 June, 2012 15:53
How does one go from normal, everyday chickie to a sculpture of twisted sanguinity and spirituality known as a "Pain Artist"? I'll tell you. First you survive a say like the one outlined for you below. next, you add equal parts outlandish love and coconut rum. Mix well and serve often.
The day of the Mad WIND
Radene Marie Cook
“WHY ME?!?” I can’t count how many times various “whys” have bounced off the walls of my mind since that day. No matter how many times I didn’t get an answer, I still kept asking until I finally reached the only conclusion that gave me peace: “Who gives a crap? Here I am. Now what?” My name is Radene Marie Cook. I’m a mixed blood American Indian woman who’s spent most of my life working in entertainment, 15 years of it in radio. I have an amazing family and friends, a cool mobility dog named Raja and I have learned more about life in the past nine-plus years since “the day of the Mad Wind,” than in all the years prior. I’ve learned about real pain, belief, love, and how profanity can be used as therapy! So can writing.
It was March 16, 2000. Another beautiful, smog filled day over the Los Angeles basin. I was an airborne reporter for a news station in Los Angeles. I loved having the view out my office window change every moment. Come on, this was LA: the unofficial home of high speed pursuits and low speed “chases.” Fall wildfires, spring mud slides, and summer movie shoots that can tie up traffic for miles. The free rollercoaster rides provided by the frequent Santa Ana winds weren’t bad either. I was always a bit of an adrenaline junkie and now they paid me for it. Yea!
But March 16th 2000 was not a thrill-a-minute day. No news stories, no nine mile back up. It was 2:55pm. I had three more traffic reports and it was quitting time. My pilot and I had just finished talking