This week my mother turns the same age as her mother was when she passed away.
I have been cognizant of that number for many years and never gave it more than a passing thought. This year, it is different and it hit me like a ton of bricks last week. I was speaking with some people and a woman I know is that age. When I jokingly said she could be my own mother the thought of mortality invaded my mind. Nearly breaking down, I left the room calmly as I could manage without bursting into tears. I made it to a hallway close by and tried not to hyperventilate. Ever since that episode, I am afraid of running out of time; never saying the right things; not making up for any past unkindness. For never saying “I’m sorry” when I should have or “I love you” enough.
I spoke to her today on the phone. She is far away on a long planned, well deserved holiday. I miss her and want to hug and tell her these things.
It was just over nineteen years ago that we lost ________.
That is also the difference in age between me and my mom.
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Saturday, September 23, 2006
Remembrance of 09.11
My first inkling that anything might be wrong was an early morning phone call. You know the kind, they are never filled with good news and you hoped that you did not lose anyone close to death.
This was obviously different. Terrible. A nightmare.
I was living in the Bay Area with my now ex-girlfriend. We had a small one bedroom apartment that was big enough to be quaint yet small enough to be claustrophobic at times. The phone was in our bedroom. I don’t know if I answered or not, but the message was quick and adamant:
Turn on the television!
I staggered out of bed and down the hall- my feet numbed with coldness by the time I got to the living room. When I hit the power button I could see the devastation.
_____, I shouted! Get out here! You won’t believe what is happening!
When she got to the couch a few moments later I was numb with disbelief.
We did not move for the next hour or so- both of clinging to each other in desperation, sadness and slight fear. Neither of us wanted to go to work, but being the good worker bees we were, we did.
I begged her not to go. She worked near the financial district and already we had heard the Transamerica building was a possible target (crazy five years later to think about it, but shockingly realistic at the time). Time after time she told me it was ok and if I was going to work, she was going to work. My mother had begged us not to take the Bart or Muni.
Getting to work for me was always fun. I could walk to work in 30 minutes or take the bus. Sometimes, I walked and then caught the bus. That day I was at the hands of the oft maligned SF mass transit system. The trip reminded me of the times when I had some strict bus drivers when I was in grade school-- silent. Hardly anyone spoke the entire time. Also, the bus was only a third full on a route that was usually overflowing during the morning rush hour. The streets were empty as well. It was a spooky and surreal atmosphere. Even the transients were missing from the always entertaining/heartbreaking 16th and Mission intersection.
By the time I stepped off the 22-Fillmore, I was thinking of the things I should do as soon as I stepped into the building. I worked for the Bay Area’s PBS/NPR station. As you can imagine, it was a beehive of activity. In my department, my boss was one of the major point people (the biggest in my opinion) for station travel arrangements. Already, I was trying to think of who might be on a trip today and were they on the East coast for any reason. ______ was never in before me (but always stayed much later than I did), so it was up to me to look at our travel log and report it to the people who might need it most. ______ had beaten me to it if I can remember correctly(phoning in all the appropriate information). When I rushed around the building looking for the CEO and COO, they already knew it and even gave me information about travelers I was not aware of. Luckily for all of us there, we did not have anyone on those ill-fated flights.
Now I could slow down my actions. I did what I thought was the most important thing. Everyone else in the building that was not devoted to news coverage or keeping us on the air was rooted to a television somewhere; and at that point, I found myself looking at a large monitor that had been rolled out into the atrium.
I remember standing in front of the screen.
I watched a replay of one of the towers coming down.
My god.
I didn't know one of the towers had fallen. It must have happened on the way to work. I was deaf to all sound. I think tears were streaming down my face. ____ came over to me and put his hand on my shoulder and asked if I was all right. I replied that I didn’t know. He told me to sit down.
I was going into shock.
Again and again the tower fell and you could not take your eyes off of the screen.
I have no memory of the other tower coming down. I just know that it did.
(to be continued)
This was obviously different. Terrible. A nightmare.
I was living in the Bay Area with my now ex-girlfriend. We had a small one bedroom apartment that was big enough to be quaint yet small enough to be claustrophobic at times. The phone was in our bedroom. I don’t know if I answered or not, but the message was quick and adamant:
Turn on the television!
I staggered out of bed and down the hall- my feet numbed with coldness by the time I got to the living room. When I hit the power button I could see the devastation.
_____, I shouted! Get out here! You won’t believe what is happening!
When she got to the couch a few moments later I was numb with disbelief.
We did not move for the next hour or so- both of clinging to each other in desperation, sadness and slight fear. Neither of us wanted to go to work, but being the good worker bees we were, we did.
I begged her not to go. She worked near the financial district and already we had heard the Transamerica building was a possible target (crazy five years later to think about it, but shockingly realistic at the time). Time after time she told me it was ok and if I was going to work, she was going to work. My mother had begged us not to take the Bart or Muni.
Getting to work for me was always fun. I could walk to work in 30 minutes or take the bus. Sometimes, I walked and then caught the bus. That day I was at the hands of the oft maligned SF mass transit system. The trip reminded me of the times when I had some strict bus drivers when I was in grade school-- silent. Hardly anyone spoke the entire time. Also, the bus was only a third full on a route that was usually overflowing during the morning rush hour. The streets were empty as well. It was a spooky and surreal atmosphere. Even the transients were missing from the always entertaining/heartbreaking 16th and Mission intersection.
By the time I stepped off the 22-Fillmore, I was thinking of the things I should do as soon as I stepped into the building. I worked for the Bay Area’s PBS/NPR station. As you can imagine, it was a beehive of activity. In my department, my boss was one of the major point people (the biggest in my opinion) for station travel arrangements. Already, I was trying to think of who might be on a trip today and were they on the East coast for any reason. ______ was never in before me (but always stayed much later than I did), so it was up to me to look at our travel log and report it to the people who might need it most. ______ had beaten me to it if I can remember correctly(phoning in all the appropriate information). When I rushed around the building looking for the CEO and COO, they already knew it and even gave me information about travelers I was not aware of. Luckily for all of us there, we did not have anyone on those ill-fated flights.
Now I could slow down my actions. I did what I thought was the most important thing. Everyone else in the building that was not devoted to news coverage or keeping us on the air was rooted to a television somewhere; and at that point, I found myself looking at a large monitor that had been rolled out into the atrium.
I remember standing in front of the screen.
I watched a replay of one of the towers coming down.
My god.
I didn't know one of the towers had fallen. It must have happened on the way to work. I was deaf to all sound. I think tears were streaming down my face. ____ came over to me and put his hand on my shoulder and asked if I was all right. I replied that I didn’t know. He told me to sit down.
I was going into shock.
Again and again the tower fell and you could not take your eyes off of the screen.
I have no memory of the other tower coming down. I just know that it did.
(to be continued)
Sunday, September 03, 2006
Rain
It rained yesterday.
Actually, it was the summer monsoon.
Where I live it does not rain much during the year. When it does, a majority of the time it is a few drops and then nothing. Most of the rain comes in the late summer and for a few weeks in the middle months of winter.
Last night, I sat on the back porch and watched the rain pour from the sky. I could see our small mountain in the distance and smell earth in the air. I could feel the rain mist upon my legs as the wind blew towards me. Water started to pool on the concrete and I swished my feet happily in the coolness.
I saw a television show a while back on water. If my memory serves me correctly, wetness is nothing but temperature & pressure. A man had specialized gloves placed on his hands. After a few tests to show him what water felt like with the gloves on, he was blindfolded. Other tests were run and he could not tell the difference between having the gloved hands in water versus the pressure/temperature portion of the experiment. I wish I could remember how everything was set up. It was amazing.
I thought of that show last night as I sat comfortably on the edge of the storm.
Most of my life, I’ve lived where the rain is a normality. Here, it is an anomaly.
Sometime soon, I will leave this arid desert and hopefully move to a place that is greener, wetter & ultimately more palatable to my liking.
I miss the rain.
Actually, it was the summer monsoon.
Where I live it does not rain much during the year. When it does, a majority of the time it is a few drops and then nothing. Most of the rain comes in the late summer and for a few weeks in the middle months of winter.
Last night, I sat on the back porch and watched the rain pour from the sky. I could see our small mountain in the distance and smell earth in the air. I could feel the rain mist upon my legs as the wind blew towards me. Water started to pool on the concrete and I swished my feet happily in the coolness.
I saw a television show a while back on water. If my memory serves me correctly, wetness is nothing but temperature & pressure. A man had specialized gloves placed on his hands. After a few tests to show him what water felt like with the gloves on, he was blindfolded. Other tests were run and he could not tell the difference between having the gloved hands in water versus the pressure/temperature portion of the experiment. I wish I could remember how everything was set up. It was amazing.
I thought of that show last night as I sat comfortably on the edge of the storm.
Most of my life, I’ve lived where the rain is a normality. Here, it is an anomaly.
Sometime soon, I will leave this arid desert and hopefully move to a place that is greener, wetter & ultimately more palatable to my liking.
I miss the rain.
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