However sincerely we try to put ourselves into another person's position, we cannot allow for processes of the human mind and imagination to which reason offers no key.

Madness is however an affliction which in war carries with it the advantage of surprise. [author's italics]

Winston Churchill
The Grand Alliance

A couple weeks ago, my wife Barbara and I wandered over to Nashville to see her parents. We cruised around the radio dial as we drove, thinking we might pick up a little local color. You'll be happy to know that Pat Benatar is still making promises in the dark in western North Carolina.

Actually, I kinda like that, myself.

No, the strange part came as we headed west on I-40. We began to hear real accents. Sort of a hick drawl in the Appalachians smoothing out into a classic southern drawl in the foothills and then ratcheting up into the fake "country" twang that just permeates Nashville. Apparently newcomers are forced to take classes, which explains why their accents just arent convincing.

I've never assumed that the Raleigh-Durham area is representative of North Carolina or the south in general. Indeed, the personals here are overwhelmed with "former Manhattanite seeking same" ads. Even the natives have lost the edge on their accents. So this excursion into the vagaries of American speech patterns was most enlightening.

Over here, in that portion of the New South we like to think of as "civilized," folks aren't too terribly worried about the threat of anthrax. Concerned? Yes. Hysterical? No.

This attitude, apparently, is not shared by most Americans.

While in Nashville, Barbara got her hair cut. While in the chair she overheard her hairdresser trying to get rid of his Tennessee Titans tickets for the Tampa Bay game. The reason wasn't the team's woeful 0-3 start (not too good for a team picked to challenge for the Super Bowl). No, the hairdresser's wife refused to go to the game because she was afraid the stadium would be bombed.

I figured that four weeks of major sporting events going off without a hitch might have removed some of the fear factor. Apparently not.

My in-laws had some friends over one evening. Naturally, talk came round to the bombings and the anthrax and all. This was just after the NBC exposure had been reported.

"Theresa" (I don't feel like using real names) had a lot of good information. Most of what she said about the NBC case and others like it was true. Then, as we talked about the runs on stores that Nashville had on September 11 and 12, she said that Tom Ridge, the newly-appointed head of Homeland Security, had told people to stockpile goodies and buy as much as they could right then and there. Then there was mention of the Nostradamus thing.

I rudely dismissed that prophet junk in about thirty seconds and then told her that as part of my work I open mail--packages, in fact--from people I don't know every single day.

She just about hit the roof. She said I shouldn't open anything that I didn't recognize and that I was taking my life into my own hands every time I touched a package.

I responded by saying that I'd be honored if terrorists singled me out for an attack. It would mean that my little web site had penetrated far deeper into the cosmic consciousness than I had previously thought. A glib and somewhat condescending answer, especially to a person who was simply expressing concern for my being, but I'm dreadfully tired of all this scare nonsense. There's no need for it.

And there's no use scouring the U.S. intelligence community for a scapegoat for the bombings. The scapegoat is Osama bin Lauden and his buddies. Period. And there's no telling where they'll strike next. Though I have a sneaking suspicion that Durham, N.C. or Grand Rapids, Mich., or Tuscaloosa, Ala., or any other regular American city is pretty low on the list of targets.

Even if Osama himself proclaimed jihad on the Duke women's soccer team (whose games Barbara and I attend with some regularity), when the next home game comes around you'd probably find us sitting in the bleachers at Koskinen Stadium munching on eastern North Carolina barbecue sandwiches and muttering (with our mouths full) about the ref. I'm willing to sacrifice and all for the good of the nation, but there's only so far you can push me.

We can't predict what terrorists are going to do. No matter how far we go in turning our society into a police state, there will still be terrorist attacks. One person, or group of people, crazy enough to commit suicide for a cause can't be stopped completely. There will be leakage.

What we have to do is simply live our lives. Be vigilant, but not at the cost of destroying all that which makes this a great nation. Patrick Henry's rallying cry comes mind at times like this. A life without liberty is, indeed, not much of a life at all.

Jon Worley has opened about sixty packages since the bombings. So far, so good.