With all the rain we’ve had lately, there is no shortage of fungus among us…
I was thinking I’d play with this theme a bit – - show a stationary person looking quite “statuesque.” But on a trip to Alexandria recently, I saw this head dressed Indian statue standing in front of a smoke shop. Something about it was equally offensive and intriguing. The stoic Native American depicted in a stereotypical style meant to be a carved work of art was posted in the doorway in what I’d hardly deem good taste. And yet…
Process of Elimination:Exploring with Camera
Chi, like her Oma, has a thing for hats… so no one was surprised when she stole one of Oma’s to wear on a walk today. She’s at that age – - that in between youth and young adult stage when her personality is firming and her privacy is paramount. She’s developed her own style. She sneaks away consumed in her intimate, personal thoughts. And while she adores the closeness of family, she cherishes her freedom to be alone.
These days I’m torn about writing about her. She’s old enough to tell me what cannot be shared and young enough to feel sharp pangs of jealousy when the focus shifts too far away from her. It’s easy to write about Ya. And Chi? Well, I’m starting to think she has a right to tell her own story.
Remember: Paper Heart Camera prompt
Today is the anniversary of Nine Eleven. Ten years ago I was sitting in Ike’s car. My weekend bag was thrown on the back seat and I was excited to live it up in Lake Tahoe at a science conference. At 22 years old, I believed in the absolute safety of US soil. No one could touch us – - and I had a long family history of servicemen who’d vowed to protect us at all cost.
When the announcer interrupted the song I was happily bouncing to as I belted out off key lyrics and lamented the terrible California drivers, I thought we’d fallen victim to some War of the Worlds radio hoax. I wracked my brain to recall what buildings they were talking about. The Twin Towers – those two silver slivers that touched the sky – were burning. Something had struck them. A bomb? No, a plane. Make that two planes. They were crumbling. Collapsing upon themselves and sending up great billowing clouds of debris. A fog covered the City That Never Sleeps. And people were in panic. I couldn’t allow myself to believe what I’d heard. I mumbled incoherently. I insisted I’d go teach my class and head out to cover the conference as planned.
Ike dropped me off at Burger King and wished me a good weekend. I walked into the building where people seemed to operate in a surreal sort of trance. Time had stopped. Though people were placing orders, as did I, no one was talking. There was none of the usual cacophony of public eateries. Every television was on, and from the five or so sets we – the patrons – watched in horror the replay of the Tower’s demise. Strangers though we were, we sat huddled in arbitrary groupings oblivious of socioeconomics, heritage, and age. Tears. Uncontrollable sobs. Hugs from anonymous neighbors.
On the T.V., the images appeared in flickers, an endless slideshow. Or was it live footage? My mind fought to process. The Pentagon. Burning. Firemen. People. Smoke. Falling. Jumping. Blue skies now gray. Police. A ticker tape of close captioning.
I have to call my parents. I have to call my family in New York. Who works in the city? Are my parents, brother safe so close to DC? Is San Francisco a target? I dialed numbers on my cell. Dial tone. Beep. Beep. Beep. Busy. Please wait while the subscriber you called is located… I dialed again. The phone line dead. No service…
I remember praying. I remember fear. I remember wonder. I remember innocence. I remember sorrow. I remember strength. I remember brotherhood. I remember unity. I remember vows. I remember healing.
We will never forget.