And now, back to regular blogging

I spent some time yesterday watching shows about 9/11.  Back in 2001, I recall leaving the TV off because I couldn't bear to watch any more footage showing what had happened.  Now, enough time has passed so that I can take it in in small doses.  
In 2001, I was keeping in touch with several of my old Internet chat room friends:  Joanna was near Washington, DC, so of course she was shaken by the fact that the Pentagon was attacked.  Maria was in Buffalo, New York, close enough to the World Trade Center that she felt the attack was right in her own back yard, so to speak (Maria, do you still read this mess?  I have been trying to reach you by email).  I was working at Kohl's distribution center when my associate supervisor made the rounds to tell all of us that a plane had hit World Trade Center.  Cliff and I had spent the previous weekend in Arkansas, staying one night with another Internet friend (also a real-life friend) who had plans to fly to Texas on the morning of 9/11 and meet one of her daughters.  Then the two of them were going to board a plane together and fly to Washington state and visit another daughter.  So when I heard about a plane crashing into a building, my first thought was that my friend was flying that day.  As it happened, she got stranded in Texas for a few days and eventually rented a car and drove home.   
I know some people don't want to hear any more about all that mess that happened ten years ago.  The wonderful thing is, they don't have to.  You can change the channel or turn off the TV and computer and do other things.  The main thing that motivates me to participate in Project 2,996  is the occasional comment like these: "Thank you for doing this for my friend" "Thank you for the personal, moving tribute; Christopher was a distant cousin that I never knew.  Thanks to your comments, I now have some insight into what a wonderful person he was." 
I am still home-bound with my cow, whose calf is perfectly happy to partake of the milk from the front teats, with an occasional hit on the two back ones.  This has worked out well for Cliff, who feels he has an obligation to take me to see the Grand Canyon but would much rather stay home and work on his 1855 Oliver tractor.  He's sandblasted and primed the hulking beast, and before you know it, it will look as though it came fresh from the factory, with bright Oliver-green paint, new decals and all.  
Remember almost a month ago when we came home from the state fair and found Bonnie's calf had fallen into a canyon?    Up until that day, Bonnie had a favorite shaded spot right at the western rim of that canyon where she would go to escape the heat.  There is a large, grassy area at that side of the ditch that we call "the point".  It has always been a choice grazing area for any animals living on our place.  But since Bonnie's calf fell into the ditch, she has not been anywhere on the west side of that ditch!  There's plenty of grazing in other places, but it can't be coincidence that she stays away from the area where she lost her baby for a few hours.  She used to spend most of her time over there.   
So, life goes on here; we are still having a string of perfect, autumn-like days that make a person happy to be alive.  I have a feeling that if the weather holds, we will at least get in a motorcycle day trip in the next day or two.

Six Years Ago

I've seen several entries on this theme, so I'll join in.

Six years ago, on Tuesday, September 11, I recall being in great good spirits. It was a perfect, sunshiny-yet-crisp autumn day. Cliff and I had spent some time that weekend in Arkansas at a friend's house and we had a marvelous time. As I performed my tasks at my place of employment (Kohl's Distribution Center) I said a quick prayer for my friend, because I knew she had big plans to be flying to Texas that day and meeting up with a daughter. Then the two of them would fly together to visit another daughter in Washington state and spend some quality family time.

My assistant supervisor approached each of us employees, one at a time, to tell us about an airplane hitting the twin towers. At that point I assumed it was some sort of horrible accident, and silently prayed for the people involved.

At my 9 o'clock break, there were televisions turned on in the lunch room; then the horror of what was happening started to sink in. That's when it hit me that my friend Lona was flying. I wondered if the terrorist attacks were going to be nationwide, and whether her plane was safe. (Her plane was grounded in Texas and she eventually had to rent a car and drive home.)

For days, newsmen speculated on the happenings. For all those days, I numbly shut myself in a private world where I didn't let myself dwell too much on the horror. Because I felt I couldn't stand it.

I recall Judy, the lady I rode to work with, saying, "I just can't believe this happened. And we're going to work, going on with our lives, just the same as always."

I think we wondered on some level why our lives still seemed so normal, when so many had lost their lives, or their loved ones, to an act of terrorism.

I'm still not comfortable watching films of the carnage. Something in me wants to forget it all happened, while another part of me knows that isn't possible or even desirable.

I still wait for the other shoe to drop. They did it once, and if we don't destroy ourselves with all the fighting and bickering, the drugs and violence, I know they'll do what they can to obliterate us. They'll always be trying.

Our world will never be the same.