7 A.M.

Sitting, listening, tears streaming.

I received a lovely box in the mail yesterday from my Brooklyn boys. Among the gift items was a CD/DVD of Simon & Garfunkel (one of my very favorites!). I decided to let it keep Milton and me company this morning.

It takes me back to Easter Sunday, March 29, 1970.  I'm three months pregnant and staying with my parents on the farm. My husband of 10 months is in basic training outside of Chicago. I work at the hospital in a small city, about 10 miles away. There are no cell phones and we only get three TV stations - a few radio stations. I'm off work and enjoying my holiday with family. A call goes out in the night for all hospital staff to come help. I'm unaware and can't respond. The next morning, we learn that there was a terrible fire in town and five volunteer firemen are dead, 27 people injured with 12 admitted to the small hospital. Even in New York, Chicago, L.A., Paris, or any huge city you can think of, this would be front page news. Imagine a population of 8,000. Everyone in the town and surrounding area is either friend or relative, relative of a friend, friend of a relative, works with, goes to church with, or had their life/home saved by one of these killed.

Within the next few days, the fallen were to be eulogized, farewells given and put to rest. Several of the injured remained in the hospital. It was planned to have the audio broadcast on the public address system at the hospital. My mom was working that day and I came in for the 3-11 shift. I was able to ignore the service in the guise of busyness (Didn't want to cry at work!) Until the song. S & G in their pure, melodic harmonies singing, "Bridge Over Troubled Water".

I expounded a bit about the power of music to vividly refresh a moment in time in my post 'The Song Remembering When'. Thus the tears streaming at 7 A.M. I'm back there, back then, trying not to cry, not succeeding, feeling the anguish, feeling the sorrow of the above mentioned people, feeling my own sadness at the loss of so many, so young, so dedicated, from all walks of life, brought together in death by their mutual commitment to life.

I'll never forget. No one should.

*David Lee Rotten Note: Check out the amazing Simon & Garfunkel - Bridge Over Troubled Water performance that I was lucky to see LIVE at the 25th ANNIVERSARY ROCK AND ROLL HALL OF FAME CONCERT- Madison Square Garden, NYC - October 29&30, 2009

It's sunny and warmer today after, what seems to me, an unseasonably cool spell. I'm energized to water plants and pull a few dead ones. Fall has begun and I see a few brilliant red leaves on my maple. The sky is light to dark blue and nearly cloudless. I saw a sliver of moon yesterday-not today. Don't know why I love day-moon so much.

I've been watching large, soaring birds lately. I know they are vultures or buzzards looking for carrion. Why should that make them less beautiful to us? Our national bird eats dead animals, as well, and we think it majestic and noble.
 
Milton and I discovered a newly dead groundhog across the street and we were very grateful to have it cleaned up quickly and thoroughly. We saw a partial skeleton a few days later but no stench, maggots or flies.

Anyway, they are so graceful and stately, lazily floating on the invisible wind currents high above.

I love seeing them and knowing they are a vital part of nature and make our world a better place.

I love my home.
I love my privacy and my freedom. To clean and rearrange all day or to do nothing all day.
To listen to CDs , radio, or be silent.
To watch what I want or not watch at all.
To play games on the computer.
To eat what I want and when I want and where.
Alex, Pat, Vanna and I have shared many a meal together.

I occasionally get restless but never lonely. Never wish for constant companionship. Never wish for live-in love. I can't imagine that kind of existence again. I'm glad I turned down that offer! Even though it was a deal-breaker and I miss him, seems like I would've been miserable. Better some heartache and tears than an untenable living situation in my own home.

I look around and see the table my mom bought for $2.00; round, oak, claw foot. The cupboard my dad made over 60 years ago. My step-mom's hutch, the books, pictures, yard-sale finds, tchotchkes collecting dust. The backsplash my whole family helped install. My little laundry nook under the stairs that my sisters and nephew painted blue. (lovely surprise of color)

All the trappings of my life.

I look around and I'm happy-always happy!

How could thirteen years have passed since 9/11? We all remember where we were, what we were doing, how we found out. We were unable to stop watching. We saw the second plane hitting the tower. We knew then that it couldn't have been an accident.

Most of us didn't know any of the victims, had never been to New York or D.C. or the field in Pennsylvania. But we cried and sobbed and mourned and grieved. They were people; men, women, children, unborn babies. Our people from our towns, our cities, our land, our world.

All humanity joined in sorrow. Unable to grasp the depth of hatred, the mindset of those whose joy and salvation is murder. Who serve a god rewarding the slaughter of 'innocents' and self.

I was able to visit the 9/11 memorial site several times during my N.Y. city visit. Even with the crowds present, it feels peaceful and solemn. Voices hushed, the soothing sounds and sight of rushing water. The beauty and simplicity of the names cut into the bronze plates. Eleven with the added phrase; "and her unborn child".

So much thought and care has gone into arranging the 2,983 names. Originally, they were to be randomly placed. Somehow developing the concept of "meaningful adjacencies", they paired co-workers, companies, organization affiliates, friends, relatives and recovery proximity. Over 1200 family requests were received and addressed.

As we stood by the south tower site, we noticed kids touching the water, feeling it's coolness. Our first thought-disapproval. Then my daughter suggested putting our hands in so "our skin cells will be part of the ever-flowing water and it will be part of us." With fingers immersed; we experienced immediate tears and emotional connection.  Nothing magical or mystical, just honoring and mourning the dead, and empathizing with families and friends who ever struggle with their loss.

In great or small ways we all do.

Afro curls of a young boy. Dripping pool water. Beading and cascading from his head like liquid flowing diamonds. So beautiful I wanted to tell him; too young to understand, too old to approach. Dark blue sky with unmoving white fluff. Heat browning skin. Warm breeze making it bearable. 4 or 5 kids in the pool; aqua with black stripes. Lovely afternoon. Rainy, cloudy morning that washed the earth and watered my deck full of plants and flowers. YAY-I won't have to hydrate them myself.

Perfect day, perfect place. It's almost over-back to school time. It makes me a little sad for them. Those lucky kids going back to work after a summer full of play. Some happy, some full of dread, some just wishing for a little more time to be. None realizing what life will bring-the good, the bad, the drudgery, the joy.

The here and now all they can perceive.

Some say these are the best years of their lives. I think they're all the best. Every year the best!

Years ago Lerner & Loewe wrote a song for My Fair Lady they titled "On the Street Where You Live".
For some reason, this song has been running through my thoughts of late. I realize it has to do with the male
star 'mooning' over the street on which his love lives. But I have been relating this phrase to the many streets 
on which I've lived.

I'm thinking of similarities and differences. Noisy and quiet. Beautiful and not. Maples and palms. Bougain-
villea and buttercups. Creeks and oceans. Lizards and ground hogs. One sound the same.

I grew up on a farm with a country road running between the house and barn. It was a busy road with 
speeding cars and trucks. Many a poor, unsuspecting animal killed there, much to the dismay of the five 
children growing up on that dairy farm. I recall, vividly, crossing that road to get to my dad on the other side; 
glancing up to see a huge truck bearing down on me! A spanking awaited when I reached my destination. I 
lived there over 19 years. One sound the same. Then the journey began.

A back street in a small town after the wedding. A street in Key West, Florida across from the Presidential 
Gate. I could hear the conductors on the Conch Train pointing out the gate to the never-ending stream of 
tourists. Back to the farm for a short while. In the heart of Long Beach, California for 3 weeks; so much street
noise. Then to a complex in San Pedro away from the street noise. National City, back to the country, Chula 
Vista and a street in the suburbs. Nine more moves and nine more streets and I'm finally on a quiet street by 
a park and a vacant lot. The sound of barking dogs and occasional traffic. One sound the same.

After the third or fourth move, I noticed something that was always present; east coast, gulf coast, west coast 
and anywhere in between. Mourning doves. That sad, poignant cooing.  When I was a child, I thought of 
them as 'morning' doves. When I learned the correct spelling, I was even more intrigued by their lonesome 
call. I began listening for the sound everywhere I landed. They've always graced my new home with their 
peaceful voices. Every vacation spot, anyplace I go, they are with me and they make me happy. One sound
the same.