Saturday, September 22, 2007
In the year 2012
Dinner-time conversation tonight turned to the coming apocalypse. It is the opinion of First and Second Sons that in 2012, when the Mayan calendar comes to an end that it will be the beginning of the end. Or the end of the beginning, perhaps. The form of the apocalypse is unclear -- zombies, maybe, fire from the sky, possibly. However since it is only five years away, we must begin to consider important things, like whether post-apocalyptic fashion will include stylish leather outfits (like on Mad Max), and whether it is important to keep a good deal of Spam on hand, in case it becomes legal currency.
September 11 (a little late, part two)
For those of us of a certain age, living in the US, September 11, 2001 is a bookmark in the album of of our lives. There is "before September 11," and "after September 11."
For me, this defining event, this event that I felt so connected to, was not something I felt I could wholly own. It is only now, six years later, that I am beginning to allow myself to own, and to feel the sadness that I should have felt in 2001.
A couple of weeks ago, I had a conversation with a friend who recently lost her beloved husband, the father of her two small children. Since his unexpected death, she had been very busy. She had to suddenly take on the burden of single parenthood, she had to do all the chores and errands one must do someone dies, she had moved to another state to be closer to family, she had found a new job. I asked her if she had taken time to be sad, so that she could start to heal. She said that she felt the reason she was so busy was to avoid having to feel sad. She had to keep moving so she wouldn't feel the pain.
Now the sadness I feel about September 11 is a small thing compared to the devastating loss my friend is experiencing. But like her, I have not allowed myself to feel the pain fully. When I think about why, it seems silly -- how could I let another person define how I should feel? Writing this makes it seem even sillier to me -- I realize it makes me look like the kind of neurotic woman who can't take responsibility for her own emotions, and has to blame her problems on her mother.
I am, you realize, a grown woman. Fully grown, mature, (dare I say, beyond middle-aged?) able do all sorts of things that only grown-ups can do, like parenting teen-agers, and driving in snow-storms, and cooking for eight at the drop of a hat. But despite all of this grown-upness, I can still be affected by what my mother says.
My mother lived in Wimbledon during World War II. Which means she lived through the Blitz. What she said in 2001 was, "I don't know why everyone's making such a fuss about this. It's not like the Blitz, you know." And she's right, it's not like the Blitz. And with that statement, I allowed her to make my connectedness, my sadness, feel wrong, and unnecessary. It's not like the Blitz. It was a small thing in context of world history. A morning of pain, not a war.
Now, in September 2007, I am starting to be able to to feel okay about feeling sad about September 11. I respect what my parents went though in World War 2. I am deeply grateful that I have never experienced anything like that. I pray that I and my family will never experience anything like that. But that does not diminish the appropriateness of my own feelings about September 11. There is nothing wrong with me for feeling the connections I feel, for sharing the shock and grief of the event. I can make a fuss about it if I choose, and I do choose , by remembering, by seeking peace, and by never seeing a clear blue September sky without praying for all involved.
For me, this defining event, this event that I felt so connected to, was not something I felt I could wholly own. It is only now, six years later, that I am beginning to allow myself to own, and to feel the sadness that I should have felt in 2001.
A couple of weeks ago, I had a conversation with a friend who recently lost her beloved husband, the father of her two small children. Since his unexpected death, she had been very busy. She had to suddenly take on the burden of single parenthood, she had to do all the chores and errands one must do someone dies, she had moved to another state to be closer to family, she had found a new job. I asked her if she had taken time to be sad, so that she could start to heal. She said that she felt the reason she was so busy was to avoid having to feel sad. She had to keep moving so she wouldn't feel the pain.
Now the sadness I feel about September 11 is a small thing compared to the devastating loss my friend is experiencing. But like her, I have not allowed myself to feel the pain fully. When I think about why, it seems silly -- how could I let another person define how I should feel? Writing this makes it seem even sillier to me -- I realize it makes me look like the kind of neurotic woman who can't take responsibility for her own emotions, and has to blame her problems on her mother.
I am, you realize, a grown woman. Fully grown, mature, (dare I say, beyond middle-aged?) able do all sorts of things that only grown-ups can do, like parenting teen-agers, and driving in snow-storms, and cooking for eight at the drop of a hat. But despite all of this grown-upness, I can still be affected by what my mother says.
My mother lived in Wimbledon during World War II. Which means she lived through the Blitz. What she said in 2001 was, "I don't know why everyone's making such a fuss about this. It's not like the Blitz, you know." And she's right, it's not like the Blitz. And with that statement, I allowed her to make my connectedness, my sadness, feel wrong, and unnecessary. It's not like the Blitz. It was a small thing in context of world history. A morning of pain, not a war.
Now, in September 2007, I am starting to be able to to feel okay about feeling sad about September 11. I respect what my parents went though in World War 2. I am deeply grateful that I have never experienced anything like that. I pray that I and my family will never experience anything like that. But that does not diminish the appropriateness of my own feelings about September 11. There is nothing wrong with me for feeling the connections I feel, for sharing the shock and grief of the event. I can make a fuss about it if I choose, and I do choose , by remembering, by seeking peace, and by never seeing a clear blue September sky without praying for all involved.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
September 11 (a little late, part one)
Everyone has their September 11 story. I'm sure almost everyone in the the United States, and I would imagine in most of the Western world, can tell you what they were doing when they heard that a plane had hit the World Trade Center. They can tell you whether they knew someone involved, or knew someone who knew someone. They can tell you who they worried about, or wanted desperately to see, and what they did to respond to the tragedy. It was an event shared by a nation. We saw it unfold together. Because we all have our stories, and there are so many stories, and because some of the stories are so personal and real and tragic, any individual story, like mine, is just a tiny piece of the tapestry of September 11, 2001.
I wasn't surprised when it happened. I had been concerned for several years that the American people lived blissfully unaware of the possibilities of terrorism. When I mentioned to people that the US could be vulnerable to terrorist attack, people assured me that it was unlikely. This was despite Lockerbie, despite Oklahoma City, and despite the previous attack on the World Trade Center. It worried me to go to places like Disney World and not see any evidence of security, and I wondered how it could be that we felt so safe. So when it happened, I wasn't surprised. But I was deeply saddened, and I felt incredibly connected to what happened that morning. I also felt that I wasn't supposed to feel so connected or so sad.
I had spent nearly ten years of my career as a consultant. I spent so much time on planes that I can't even begin to enumerate the number of flights I took over those ten years. I knew what it was like to get up early to catch the early flight, and not even to consider it as dangerous -- just another way to get to work. As soon as I heard that the first plane to hit was a commercial jet, I knew immediately who had been on it. Business travelers and vacationers, families, and people hoping to see their families soon, flight crew and cabin crew. I was connected to them.
I have worked for living since Speed Racer and I were first married. I've worked for large and small companies, and when I worked as a consultant, I visited all kinds of office buildings, from New York skyscrapers to suburban office parks. When I heard that a a major office building had been hit, I knew immediately who had been there -- executives and custodians, administrators and consultants, trainers, and caterers, temps, and lifers, and everyone in between. People who were excited about being at work, people who were just putting in time, people whose career was their life and people who worked so they could enjoy their lives. I was connected to them.
On the morning of September 11, before the planes hit, a friend of ours died of cancer. On September 15, Speed Racer and I drove up to East Orange, NJ for her funeral. Driving along the New Jersey Turnpike toward the Oranges, you can see a beautiful view of Manhattan. That Saturday, smoke still rose from the crater where the towers stood. At our friend's funeral, the priest said that this was only the first of many funerals he would be conducting over the next few weeks, as many of the firefighters and office workers came from his parish. Seeing that column of smoke and hearing that priest cemented the reality of the event for me.
In 2001, I was working at our Malvern campus, and I had a long, but beautiful drive to work. There is a church on this route -- a church where, in October, was held the funeral of one of the pilots. Days before the funeral, TV network news trucks set themselves up outside this church. Again, another reminder of reality, that this was not an event that happened to other people on TV somewhere. These were neighbours of mine -- people I was connected with.
I wasn't surprised when it happened. I had been concerned for several years that the American people lived blissfully unaware of the possibilities of terrorism. When I mentioned to people that the US could be vulnerable to terrorist attack, people assured me that it was unlikely. This was despite Lockerbie, despite Oklahoma City, and despite the previous attack on the World Trade Center. It worried me to go to places like Disney World and not see any evidence of security, and I wondered how it could be that we felt so safe. So when it happened, I wasn't surprised. But I was deeply saddened, and I felt incredibly connected to what happened that morning. I also felt that I wasn't supposed to feel so connected or so sad.
I had spent nearly ten years of my career as a consultant. I spent so much time on planes that I can't even begin to enumerate the number of flights I took over those ten years. I knew what it was like to get up early to catch the early flight, and not even to consider it as dangerous -- just another way to get to work. As soon as I heard that the first plane to hit was a commercial jet, I knew immediately who had been on it. Business travelers and vacationers, families, and people hoping to see their families soon, flight crew and cabin crew. I was connected to them.
I have worked for living since Speed Racer and I were first married. I've worked for large and small companies, and when I worked as a consultant, I visited all kinds of office buildings, from New York skyscrapers to suburban office parks. When I heard that a a major office building had been hit, I knew immediately who had been there -- executives and custodians, administrators and consultants, trainers, and caterers, temps, and lifers, and everyone in between. People who were excited about being at work, people who were just putting in time, people whose career was their life and people who worked so they could enjoy their lives. I was connected to them.
On the morning of September 11, before the planes hit, a friend of ours died of cancer. On September 15, Speed Racer and I drove up to East Orange, NJ for her funeral. Driving along the New Jersey Turnpike toward the Oranges, you can see a beautiful view of Manhattan. That Saturday, smoke still rose from the crater where the towers stood. At our friend's funeral, the priest said that this was only the first of many funerals he would be conducting over the next few weeks, as many of the firefighters and office workers came from his parish. Seeing that column of smoke and hearing that priest cemented the reality of the event for me.
In 2001, I was working at our Malvern campus, and I had a long, but beautiful drive to work. There is a church on this route -- a church where, in October, was held the funeral of one of the pilots. Days before the funeral, TV network news trucks set themselves up outside this church. Again, another reminder of reality, that this was not an event that happened to other people on TV somewhere. These were neighbours of mine -- people I was connected with.
Sunday, September 9, 2007
The choir room is a high-crime area
I should have known better -- I left my purse in the choir room during the installation service. While we were all in the church, someone opened my purse and my wallet, and removed my Visa debit card and about $8.00 in cash. I was lucky, because there were a lot of other credit cards, cell phone, blackberry etc. that weren't touched. The poor thief apparently went straight to Wal*mart, but tried to buy more there than was in the account (we use this account just for "walking-around money" so it's not linked to the account where we keep the real money.)
The reason I should have known better is that I once had a leather jacket stolen from that same choir room. It's a good place to steal things from, because once the service starts, no-one is down that end of the hall, and thieves have free reign to take whatever they want.
The reason I should have known better is that I once had a leather jacket stolen from that same choir room. It's a good place to steal things from, because once the service starts, no-one is down that end of the hall, and thieves have free reign to take whatever they want.
Busy, busy, busy
Gosh, I haven't posted in over a week. There's been plenty going on, especially at church, where we just had a huge ecclesiastical shindig to install our new rector. String quartet, Bach and Mozart, trumpet, additional organist, etc. The music alone was amazing -- especially so because it was pulled together with just one rehearsal. Then there was the procession, with 7 of my wonderful acolytes carrying crosses and banners.
If we had just added one or two baby elephants you would have thought we were putting on a performance of Aida! A great time was had by all.
If we had just added one or two baby elephants you would have thought we were putting on a performance of Aida! A great time was had by all.
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