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Yesterday, I was reading the Portland Oregonian online, just to keep up with events in the city I lived in from 1993 to 2003, when I found an article about a local couple who are missing in the tsunami.
The name of the woman is Angie Foust, and she was an instructor at the gym that I belonged to back there. She taught the first class I took at the club, a very vigorous water aerobics class that begin with five minutes of laps. Even though somebody else took over the class after a few months, Angie was always friendly and cheerful and ready to give advice on fitness or nutrition to people around the club. During the six years I belonged to the club, she also studied for and got her real estate license and went to work for a local agency.
She and her boyfriend were on vacation in Phuket, Thailand, when the tsunami struck. After nine days, the last trace of them is a credit card charge on Christmas Eve.
It doesn't look good.
We weren't friends in any sense, but Angie is/was a noticeable presence in the gym, and knowing just one of the thousands of missing Americans makes the tragedy more real.
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