Yesterday, before I even put my glasses on, I had the most wonderful virtual visit with a couple of my dearest college friends -- one from the first go-around, and one from the second. The best part was when they were interacting on my page together. I can imagine them sitting together, drinking coffee, or eating lunch, giving me -- and each other -- a good-natured hard time, and I love it! In between, I was having a raucous virtual time with a group of people that I otherwise would have no contact with, or even knowledge of, if not for the "magic" of the internet, social media and other online communication. I love this technology, and vast array of ways it can be used for good.
At the same time, I find myself exceptionally frustrated with the use of media -- social and otherwise -- to cloud and obfuscate (thanks for the word, D-J!) what is important in life, in the world, in our real lives. We do not live in the magical, fantastical world that the internet and all its trappings create. We live in a real place, where people have been killed in the line of duty, and glossed over. Where children are truly and honestly afraid for their safety, the safety (The SAFETY -- Children!!) of their families, their homes, their country. Where every job is in jeopardy, it seems, of one sort or another. Where our peers, our own neighbors, really, are still wondering how to rebuild after a natural disaster. And yet, what are we showered with in the news? Frivolous 'scandals' that, in all likelihood, should be handled privately, behind closed doors, by the individuals involved. Except that the frivolity may just have been engineered. We may never know.
The unfortunate thing is that the virtual reality of our individual internet worlds starts to feel safer to us, because what seems to be happening in the real world looks more and more like a bad movie. Not the kind that one feels one can get up and walk out of, demanding a refund; rather, the type that falls under the category of "train wreck" or "rubbernecking." So many of us are finding ourselves wondering what could possibly happen next, and shaking our heads that it did, in fact, get worse.
Lately, too many things in my life that are dear to me have lead to discussions of breaking down to bare bones, to the very foundation, to the point of no return before anything can be salvaged. Not much is irreparable, in my opinion, but most things take a heck of a lot more work -- and energy -- to maintain than many people are willing to expend. I know this firsthand, and am willing to admit that I was quite willing to give up and watch the results of my laziness (why call it anything else?? I got complacent.) because working and giving got hard, and painful. I'm back, though, and I daresay with a vengeance. To tell you the truth, I feel more useful, more invigorated, more alive for it!
Don't let it all die. Go down fighting, or go away. Beware of propaganda (my youngest son and I have been talking about propaganda quite a bit lately! He's 12, and bringing home questions about what he's learned in school.) and its intent, which is seldom less than nefarious. Pray for answers. Act on them. Fight the good fight, and leave No One Behind.
Showing posts with label unity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label unity. Show all posts
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Saturday, September 15, 2012
goin' to the chapel
When one spends 11 hours in the car on the highway, one sees many things, and some of those invariably serve as reminders of some past long forgotten. Yesterday, I had one such moment.....
Along the way, somewhere just past halfway to our destination, I spied a deserted church off the highway. It reminded me of a long ago dream of ours (mine?) to one day buy an old church and renovate it as our home. At the time, we lived in New England, where churches for sale would not have seemed all that unusual. Especially the size that would seem reasonable as a single family dwelling. We also did not yet have children, so the idea of renovating, refurbishing and remodelling did not feel overwhelmingly impossible! (Now, just trying to organize a time to purchase the paint for the balcony project--let alone pick out a color!-- takes a crazy amount of logistical madness!)
Seeing that church, though, with weeds growing up around it, and the driveway/parking lot breaking up with them, the excitement of the prospect flowered and bloomed again in my mind. For the next 50 miles or so, I mused about the little churches we had spied off the beaten track on the travels of our early days together. I remembered my sister-in-law saying that we always had the greatest creative ideas for everything. I wondered if I had ever shared that statement with my husband, and how he might have taken it.....
The loft bedroom in the choir loft; the two bedrooms off either side of what had once been the altar area; the open concept living room, dining room, fun area in the body of the church, where the main aisle and pews had been. It all came back.
And I wondered.....was it really such a far-fetched idea? I had completely forgotten about it, and the memory stirred something joyous in me. Do I see it as a calling? I don't know. Do I see it as a symbol of renewed faith? Again, I don't know. Honestly, I see it as a recollection of a dream. I see it as another rebirth of the joys of our life. Another symbol of the strong foundation we have built together paying off when the storms come. Most of all, I see it as a reminder to smile joyfully as I look both backward and forward on who I am, what we have together, and where we are headed--literally and figuratively.
Along the way, somewhere just past halfway to our destination, I spied a deserted church off the highway. It reminded me of a long ago dream of ours (mine?) to one day buy an old church and renovate it as our home. At the time, we lived in New England, where churches for sale would not have seemed all that unusual. Especially the size that would seem reasonable as a single family dwelling. We also did not yet have children, so the idea of renovating, refurbishing and remodelling did not feel overwhelmingly impossible! (Now, just trying to organize a time to purchase the paint for the balcony project--let alone pick out a color!-- takes a crazy amount of logistical madness!)
Seeing that church, though, with weeds growing up around it, and the driveway/parking lot breaking up with them, the excitement of the prospect flowered and bloomed again in my mind. For the next 50 miles or so, I mused about the little churches we had spied off the beaten track on the travels of our early days together. I remembered my sister-in-law saying that we always had the greatest creative ideas for everything. I wondered if I had ever shared that statement with my husband, and how he might have taken it.....
The loft bedroom in the choir loft; the two bedrooms off either side of what had once been the altar area; the open concept living room, dining room, fun area in the body of the church, where the main aisle and pews had been. It all came back.
And I wondered.....was it really such a far-fetched idea? I had completely forgotten about it, and the memory stirred something joyous in me. Do I see it as a calling? I don't know. Do I see it as a symbol of renewed faith? Again, I don't know. Honestly, I see it as a recollection of a dream. I see it as another rebirth of the joys of our life. Another symbol of the strong foundation we have built together paying off when the storms come. Most of all, I see it as a reminder to smile joyfully as I look both backward and forward on who I am, what we have together, and where we are headed--literally and figuratively.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
not the usual day
Eleven years ago today, I dropped Jonathan off at school, dropped Drew off at nursery school, and went home to put Joseph down for a nap and hang out with Henry until pick-up and lunch, then Kindergarten for Henry and another nap for Joseph. Another hectic, yet typical day. It was a beautiful fall day--a day much like today; another Tuesday.
As I usually did when I got back after our walk around down dropping off siblings, I called Guy at work to say hello. He told me a plane had flown into a building in New York, and I remember saying that hadn't happened in a long time, thinking it was a small, personal plane. He kept saying it's such a mess, and I remember visualizing what a mess it would be to have an office window broken in and wind blowing papers and things all around while a bi-plane like Snoopy's sat in the middle of the office.
Finally, Guy convinced me to turn on the TV and see for myself. That was just as they showed the second plane hit. I sat down. I said, "Oh, my God." I said something like, "What the hell is going on?" I was too stunned to cry, to yell, to react at all. And I was some 175 miles away. At some point I started to think of all the people in the city on any given day, and when I began to get overwhelmed, I told Guy to get back to work while I tried to occupy Henry for a few minutes.
Before long, I was on the phone with my sister in Atlanta. We talked and watched together, wondering what would happen next. I remember two things distinctly from that phone call. The first: when I expressed relief that my brother-in-law was stationed in Montana, and not at someplace that seemed a "high target" area, she mentioned that he was probably guarding missile silos. "What other reason is there to have a base in the middle of nowhere?" My heart stopped. The second: at some point, she said that if she were to decide to create widespread panic, Atlanta would be a likely target--both of us were watching CNN, based in Atlanta. "What would cause more panic than not being able to see what's happening anywhere in the world?" I got off the phone with her, wondering when I would get to speak to her again, only because it was time to pick Drew up.
By then it seemed that planes would be going down all day. The nursery school teachers had no idea what was going on--only that something unimaginably bad was happening. The lead teacher in Drew's class came out to find out how all of us were doing, and if anyone needed help with the kids, an extra prayer, if anyone needed to share anything in the dim sanctuary of the hallway. We all expressed our disbelief, our shock, our collective fear.
Later that day, I remember thinking that I felt very similar to the day of the Oklahoma City bombing. That day, I had only Jonathan, a baby, and I scooped him out of his crib and held him for the rest of his nap, the rest of the day until Guy got home. That day, all I could think of were those children in the daycare center downstairs in Oklahoma. On September 11, 2001, all I could think of were those parents in the towers, and the children left at home.
Filling out the calendar for school this year, I noticed that September 11 would fall on a Tuesday again. I wondered if it would be harder, being the same day. Occasionally, I would think that it was coming up, and, knowing myself, I figured it would affect me more than usual, being a Tuesday. And this morning when I woke up, I did remember. But it wasn't until I heard Denny and Sue on the radio, and Denny mentioned that the forecast looked to be the same day as 2001 that it hit me--all the memories came flooding back. Memories from that day, and the days, weeks and months that followed.
No planes flying overhead. The silence. The Middle Eastern mother at Jonathan's school who stopped wearing her robes and headscarf to drop off an pick up her child. The panic I felt every morning. How I wished Guy did not have to leave the house every day. How I wished I had somewhere to go, like he did. My amazement that anyone could act normally. The voice telling me, "Be not afraid." The calm that followed. "Thy will be done." Suddenly remembering a friend who could have been there, and the related need to find out. (None of them had been.) My brother telling me about visiting New York for work because no one else would take the territory, and his visits to stores and a fire department. Starting to feel normal again.
Needing, wanting to hear others' stories, memories, reflections.....my friend's twin daughters seeing themselves as related to the twin towers as they grew up; a stranger on a ferry telling me about the changes she had seen; dear friends who knew someone; 102 Minutes.
Today's flag at half staff.
Never Forget.
Ever.
As I usually did when I got back after our walk around down dropping off siblings, I called Guy at work to say hello. He told me a plane had flown into a building in New York, and I remember saying that hadn't happened in a long time, thinking it was a small, personal plane. He kept saying it's such a mess, and I remember visualizing what a mess it would be to have an office window broken in and wind blowing papers and things all around while a bi-plane like Snoopy's sat in the middle of the office.
Finally, Guy convinced me to turn on the TV and see for myself. That was just as they showed the second plane hit. I sat down. I said, "Oh, my God." I said something like, "What the hell is going on?" I was too stunned to cry, to yell, to react at all. And I was some 175 miles away. At some point I started to think of all the people in the city on any given day, and when I began to get overwhelmed, I told Guy to get back to work while I tried to occupy Henry for a few minutes.
Before long, I was on the phone with my sister in Atlanta. We talked and watched together, wondering what would happen next. I remember two things distinctly from that phone call. The first: when I expressed relief that my brother-in-law was stationed in Montana, and not at someplace that seemed a "high target" area, she mentioned that he was probably guarding missile silos. "What other reason is there to have a base in the middle of nowhere?" My heart stopped. The second: at some point, she said that if she were to decide to create widespread panic, Atlanta would be a likely target--both of us were watching CNN, based in Atlanta. "What would cause more panic than not being able to see what's happening anywhere in the world?" I got off the phone with her, wondering when I would get to speak to her again, only because it was time to pick Drew up.
By then it seemed that planes would be going down all day. The nursery school teachers had no idea what was going on--only that something unimaginably bad was happening. The lead teacher in Drew's class came out to find out how all of us were doing, and if anyone needed help with the kids, an extra prayer, if anyone needed to share anything in the dim sanctuary of the hallway. We all expressed our disbelief, our shock, our collective fear.
Later that day, I remember thinking that I felt very similar to the day of the Oklahoma City bombing. That day, I had only Jonathan, a baby, and I scooped him out of his crib and held him for the rest of his nap, the rest of the day until Guy got home. That day, all I could think of were those children in the daycare center downstairs in Oklahoma. On September 11, 2001, all I could think of were those parents in the towers, and the children left at home.
Filling out the calendar for school this year, I noticed that September 11 would fall on a Tuesday again. I wondered if it would be harder, being the same day. Occasionally, I would think that it was coming up, and, knowing myself, I figured it would affect me more than usual, being a Tuesday. And this morning when I woke up, I did remember. But it wasn't until I heard Denny and Sue on the radio, and Denny mentioned that the forecast looked to be the same day as 2001 that it hit me--all the memories came flooding back. Memories from that day, and the days, weeks and months that followed.
No planes flying overhead. The silence. The Middle Eastern mother at Jonathan's school who stopped wearing her robes and headscarf to drop off an pick up her child. The panic I felt every morning. How I wished Guy did not have to leave the house every day. How I wished I had somewhere to go, like he did. My amazement that anyone could act normally. The voice telling me, "Be not afraid." The calm that followed. "Thy will be done." Suddenly remembering a friend who could have been there, and the related need to find out. (None of them had been.) My brother telling me about visiting New York for work because no one else would take the territory, and his visits to stores and a fire department. Starting to feel normal again.
Needing, wanting to hear others' stories, memories, reflections.....my friend's twin daughters seeing themselves as related to the twin towers as they grew up; a stranger on a ferry telling me about the changes she had seen; dear friends who knew someone; 102 Minutes.
Today's flag at half staff.
Never Forget.
Ever.
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