Summer

Days of isolation
Hot, warm, sunny, weather

Fresh cut grass, sweet water aroma smell
Windows rolled down, sweat rolls down my cheek

Days of remembrance, take me to a place of isolation
Days of sovereign solitude, days free from pain

To remember those, what a joy...and...what pain

Mercy me, the grace that thou have for me

I remember the days of fresh cut grass, sweet water aroma smell
Windows rolled down, sweat rolling down my check

Days of youth-hood, not many cares or trouble...
Far from me today, far from me...today...

Thanks to Jeremiah for showing me this

I so dig her ...

Reminders

I glanced at a quick online ad today and it reminded me of sister. Although it wasn't her, it prompted me to google her name to see what would come up.

I found an article written about her death by a reporter at the RJ.

I read the article and think, "that's not my sister". Then again, yes, it is.

Here's the article:

Sunday, April 14, 2002
Copyright © Las Vegas Review-Journal
COLUMN: John L. Smith

Questions linger on cause of death of renowned Las Vegas model Hill


Model Martie Hill was a genuine showstopper, the kind of stunning young woman whose face and figure could snarl traffic and make strong hearts flutter.

Her beauty was rivaled only by her determination to succeed as a model and, later, as an art broker. She worked in New York and Los Angeles but was most successful in Las Vegas, where for years her image was ubiquitous. As a teen-ager, she was a Las Vegan magazine cover girl and won a string of beauty contests from Miss Legs of Las Vegas to Miss Star Body to Miss English Leather. The jobs poured in, and she rarely passed up an opportunity.

Whether in television commercials or on billboards, Martie was everywhere.

"She was beautiful, smart, funny and very Christian when I knew her," former model Donna Baldwin recalls. Given Hill's drive, friends and family figured there wasn't anything their Martie couldn't do if she put her mind to it.

At 40, Hill still was modeling but concentrating more on art brokering and developing her own business. By all appearances, her life still held the limitless potential of her youth.

But instead of appearing on a marquee or in a list of successful businesswomen, Martie Hill was found dead last month down on Hoover Street in the middle of a neighborhood notorious for its sidewalk drug sales.

Her body was discovered March 20 wrapped in a blanket and placed in the passenger seat of her BMW 700 IL. Her arms were constrained in the blanket, and her shoes were missing. Her cell phone and purse were next to her.

The driver's seat was pushed back to accommodate a person much taller than Hill's 5 feet 4 inches.

North Las Vegas police studied the scene and surmised the obvious: that Hill died elsewhere, was rolled into a blanket and taken to Hoover Street. After a quick inquiry and a few interviews, a detective determined that the case was not a homicide, but a probable drug overdose.

Was Martie Hill really just another Las Vegas beauty gone bad?

Although a toxicology report is incomplete, informed sources say preliminary indications are that Hill died of a cocaine overdose. This surprises her brother, Paul Hill, and a friend, Cliff Behl, because they didn't know her to use cocaine. Friends say she took anxiety medication to relieve a panic disorder and occasionally used marijuana.

"We believe there's more to it than that," Paul Hill says. "Somebody placed her car over there hoping they would think it's just another druggie."

Says Behl, a former fiance, "Drugs? She was almost violently opposed to it."

In fact, no one interviewed for this column reports Hill ever using cocaine. At times a fitness fanatic and devout Christian, she simply wasn't much of a drug user.

"I'm absolutely shocked," longtime friend Paul Murphy says. "I think that would surprise anyone who knows her. It was just not the Martie Hill that I knew very well."

"Martie was just completely against hard drugs," says Kendra Crosby, a friend of six years. "She just felt no need for them."

They also wonder why police, who admittedly have plenty of homicide cases pending, only briefly questioned Hill's roommate, Jeff Loth. He had known Hill a short time and moved into her Lakes home March 1. My attempts to reach Loth were unsuccessful.

Michele Barnes roomed with Hill for nine years.

"She was loved by a lot of people, and she had the biggest heart," Barnes says. "She helped so many people, and she always tried to see the good in everybody. She was a friend to everyone."

What about hard drugs?

"Never," Barnes says.

At Hill's funeral, people from every strata of Las Vegas life assembled. The service overflowed with family and friends. Casino bosses sent flowers, and the outpouring of affection was overwhelming.

Afterward, those friends and family members were left with aching, unanswered questions about her death.

This is certain: There is a witness to her final moments. Someone she knew drove her body down to Hoover Street. That person also knew the neighborhood's reputation.

That doesn't necessarily add up to homicide, but it does add to the mystery surrounding the death of a Las Vegas showstopper.

John L. Smith's column appears Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday and Sunday. E-mail him at jsmith@reviewjournal.com or call him at 383-0295.

The feeling of ...

I don't mind being on crunch time. But I hate the feeling of being on crunch time while totally lost and frustrated.

Crunch time is good, unless of course you get too much of it. And if that be the case, then one of two things is happening, well maybe three:

1. you're a glutton for crunch time.
2. you're repeatedly forced into crunch time by work, family, life, etc...
3. you're a procrastinator ... and therefore, you suck!

I must admit that I am, at least for today, a combo of number 3 and 1. But now that I think of it, 1 and 3 are pretty darn similar.

Damn it...I'm a sucky glutton!


Waiting Anticipatively

There are some cool things brewing in the background. Once I find out if they are a go or no go, I'll let you know.

If you feel lead, please pray - although you don't know what it is - pray that it would happen if it be his will.


7 months

My lovely wife reminded me this morning via IM that we have hit our 7 month weeding anniversary.

I'm making her dinner this evening. Too bad she won't get home till 7 p.m. :-(


Jeremiah Smith

Any other week I would call him a "punk, jerk face". But this week, I envy him. The man with the killer job is 'working' in Australia this week. While he counts cards and scratches Wilda beasts on their behind, I'm stuck in Vegas counting lines of code and scratching my own behind.

I kinda miss him. Hurry home, mate.

I want that crab!