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Once in a while, how often is beyond my ken because I am remiss at keeping track of such things myself, the ever gorgeous Lisa takes a peek into the site meter thingamabob as it is her fancy to determine from whence visitors come. She pointed out to me that the occasional referral from Hog On Ice had arrived, and that's always my cue to stop by and see what Steve has been whining about. This time it was my tragedy to barge into his. A cousin was aboard Comair Flight 5191 and he was blogging from Kentucky. Now, death to me, my entire adult life mind you, has always meant, "room for one more". This happens to career military people. It is impossible to feel grief after the thousanth or so time it is upon you, so that particular emotion goes into it's very own little place to be thrashed about in nightmares. Then even the nightmares cease when the depository overflows and "middle adulthood" is pleasant because there's no room for weeping. The memory of sorrow remains, and losing a relative is always a particularly stressful time for anyone, so it was with sincere regret that I left a comment expressing so regrettable a loss. Traveling nowadays is a bitch to begin with and a sojourn to so morbid a venue must be exceptionally difficult, so good luck, Steve, and come back in one piece.