Twenty Years Ago

Twenty years ago today, I was working onboard a ship docked in Germany. I spent the day with a friend visiting from the States — we had been out buying bunches of flowers for a colleague’s birthday that afternoon. We arrived back onboard with arms full of roses, innocently oblivious to what was happening an ocean away.

We didn’t have reliable internet onboard at the time, and I’m still not sure how the news traveled to the ship, but I do remember feeling like we were the last people onboard to find out that planes were crashing into buildings in America. As soon as we realized the severity, we dashed to my cabin, calculating time zones to call home.

New York City and Washington DC were each three hours from my family’s house by car. If you were to draw an isosceles triangle between the towers, the Pentagon and where the plane went down in Shanksville, my childhood hometown in Pennsylvania was pretty much smack in the middle. It felt like forever until I finally got through to my mother, who got to work that morning, only to be sent home early. The next day, she went out to purchase her first-ever cell phone — she never wanted to be unreachable again.

The next morning, I awoke in my cocoon of a bunk bed onboard, a map of Europe pinned next to my head, with the sobering realization that the world I lived in had changed forever. Later that day, I put my visiting friend on a train bound for another part of Europe — as we clutched each other goodbye in this larger than life station, whispering for fear of our accents being overheard, we both eerily felt like we were living out some twisted scene from World War II.

Friends that I knew in and around NYC were shaken but safe, while story after story slowly emerged of both heartbreak and heroism.

The ship sailed to Gibraltar weeks later, picking up a satellite system which would eventually provide the crew with 24/7 Internet access. As soon as it was installed, I was at my computer each morning before my daily run to check the news headlines. I didn’t want to be caught off guard again by not knowing the news. (I’m sure 9/11 is the reason I always scan the headlines of a number of news networks on my phone before I even check my email when I wake up in the mornings.)

We later sailed to Sierra Leone, West Africa, and as a writer there, I felt like I was drowning in stories of death and destruction from the moment we arrived. I have however, always had a wonderfully horrific way of detaching myself from a scene in order to get a story. I can interview people who have had their arms chopped off by rebel soldiers, or who are missing half their face from a medical issue, and show zero emotion while asking questions and writing notes. It is both a gift and a curse. It is what made me a good reporter in many ways for years. It has also portrayed me as a somewhat callous and non-compassionate person on the outside.

I do still have feelings on the inside, however, and sometimes they come crashing out clumsily when nobody is watching — hours after an interview, or perhaps after five interviews and only five minutes, when I’m all alone with my notes and I replay the stories I’ve heard, in my head.

Words carry a tremendous amount of weight. I know, because I can I feel the heaviness on my keyboard in the words as I type, depending on the subject matter. Even as a fast writer, I have always carefully considered how — and when and even why — to tell a story. I’m telling you this one because words matter — whether they are spoken, written as a story, or made in a comment on a social media post.

I can look at 1,000 photos of the destruction of what happened on September 11th, but at the end of the day, the words spoken between Todd Beamer on United Flight #93 and the 911 dispatcher are what make me crumble. Hours after the planes crashed, we crowded into a tiny room onboard the ship to listen to the Voice of America. The words spoken over a radio are what made that day very real to a scared 26-year-old on the other side of the world.

Because I was overseas, I didn’t necessarily experience the unwavering patriotism and the united feeling that most Americans felt immediately in the days and weeks following 9/11. What I did experience was the compassion and unity of a crew from 40 plus countries coming together to pray for a nation — and the world — to pray for peace, to pray for comfort, to speak words of life over those who survived. We didn’t have all of the information coming at us at rapid speed like we do today, firing at us from all directions, but what we did have was the knowledge that people had died, and a nation was hurting.

That’s all we needed to know in that moment. We (even people like me) had compassion on people we did not even know. We showed kindness and love to each other, and to complete strangers. We spoke words of encouragement and support.

So much in the world was uncertain and so much more has changed since that day — we can’t imagine life without cell phones and social media, and yet there were no cell phone photos of 9/11 as it happened — no live tweets, no Instagram posts, no Facebook status updates for people to mark themselves as ‘safe’.

Twenty years later, the world continues to remain uncertain.

Twenty years later, people all over the world are still hurting — not only from the scars of 9/11, but from a myriad of other tragedies — people in your own neighborhood, people across the US, people in countries most of us have never heard of with names we can’t pronounce.

Twenty years later, our words still matter — to ourselves, to our friends, to complete strangers. That too, is something to never forget.

Pyrex Purging and Motherhood Musings

I broke a Pyrex dish about a month ago. It was only my second Pyrex casualty ever, but it was one of my favorite patterns and dishes. In that moment, as I stared at the shards of the Butterprint refrigerator dish scattered across my kitchen floor, I decided to sell off most of my collection.

In fact, I've gotten rid of lots of stuff lately. I have never been a hoarder, but after moving (again) this summer, the thought of packing up everything about did me in. There was absolutely no reason to keep my Girl Scout sash from the early 1980s. (You'd be amazed at what people bid on eBay for stuff like that. Clean out your closets and storage areas!) And so, most of the Pyrex went off to auction, too. 

I'm keeping these though!

I went a little crazy on the Pyrex collecting over the years, mainly because I traveled so much and never really had my own kitchen until later in life. While sorting photos from eons ago, I realized I took a LOT of pictures of my Pyrex. It reminded me to pick up my camera and to actually take pictures with something other than my phone. It also reminded me that it's been forever since I posted anything on here. I started this blog five years ago — back when I seemed to have more hours in the day to take photos of stationary things like Pyrex, and to make crafty stuff to later blog about. 

These days of mine now are filled to the brim with cooking, cleaning, train track construction and Lego building with the Peanut, puzzles and books, mud painting and coloring, piles of laundry and dishes, and lots of refusals to nap. He is exhausting and exhilarating all at the same time. 

While I can still remember my life pre-Peanut (oh sleep... I still miss you...) it's hard to fathom that this blog is older than he is. I feel like so much of my life has changed, not only since I started this blog, but since having the Peanut. I am now introduced as my child's mother. (People never seem to remember the mother's name at child-friendly events.) I just ripped apart the last thing I crocheted because I hated it, leaving me to wonder if I'm ever going to use my stash of yarn again. I serve boxed mac 'n cheese for lunch more times than I care to admit. I live for nap time, on the rare occasion it happens. I find myself constantly repeating things like 'put your pants back on'.

I look back over parts of this blog and some days I'm not sure what ever happened to the old me. Well, actually the younger me. 

I got a glimpse of her earlier in the week though, when I met someone moving overseas. Her son is the same age as mine, and she and her husband will be moving to a country near and dear to me in just a few months. She wanted to know about any helpful tips and tricks for adjusting to an international life. She was of course apprehensive, but also excited. I never asked her age, but I'm guessing it was a lot younger than mine, and I realized with a bit of a shock that I've now become that older person who doles out advice to people half my age. 

I saw part of my former self in her though, and it made me smile. I too was nervous before I moved overseas for the first time, but I also remember the excitement — the anticipation of adventure.  

It's something I want to continue to instill in the Peanut, even when I feel old(er) and more tired than I ever have in my life. I hauled him to Scotland this summer because we had travel vouchers to use and because I wanted him to experience this incredible place where I've had countless laughs and adventures for over two decades. I hadn't been back for years, and I missed it fiercely.

Besides the phenomenal amount of rain and mud, the acquisition of a stomach bug, and general fatigue that comes from traveling and camping with a newly minted three-year-old, the trip was pretty amazing. In all of the summers I've spent on the shores of Loch Lomond, this was certainly the most challenging, but also one of the most rewarding. I got to show my little guy one of my favorite places on the planet and he reminded me that sometimes you just need to throw a rock into a loch to feel better. 

He still talks about camping and canoeing in Scotland and months later, he's completely enamored with the Thunderbird rockets that his 'Aunty and Uncle' from England sent to him after our trip. (After at least two dozen flights to several countries and continents with a child, I finally decided to write some travel tips here.)

When he wakes up an hour after falling asleep because he's overly tired from not napping earlier, I have to remember that these days are fleeting, even when I too am struggling to keep my eyes open. I have to remember that he already views life as an adventure. It's exciting for him to help make pancakes or waffles, to pour the milk, to help me put away the groceries, to wrap yarn around a tree, or to build a rocket house with sticks and leaves. 

He's not going to care if we mix those pancakes in a vintage Pyrex bowl. He's only going to care that I let him sit on the counter and crack the eggs. And those are the images that I will probably never get on camera, but they'll be imprinted on my heart forever.  

We don't always have to travel far to see what an adventure life can truly be. And we don't always need a photo to show everyone where we've been. There are days when I miss my old life, but I still wouldn't trade it for the world, because I've already seen it. And now I'm seeing it through the eyes of my son.  

I just hope he sleeps long enough for me to actually publish this post. 

PS: National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo, starts in a mere matter of minutes! EEK! This is my third year participating and hopefully my third win. The story of why I started this insane tradition can be found here.

PPS: The holidays will be here before we all know it. If you're visiting friends or family, or hosting anyone, brush up on how to be a charming hostess and gracious guest here.

The Week in Pics

While perusing my past few posts, I realize I've been excessively wordy and very light on the photos. 

So, here's a little view of my week in pics. 

I kept the plants alive. 

I watched the Peanut grow. 

I crocheted a hat for a friend's little girl. 

I looked up basket patterns to go with this yarn. 

(I feel like I need more baskets to contain the Peanut's stuff...) 

I put the Peanut's stuff into baskets. 

(I'm trying to teach him to put his stuff back after he's done playing with it, but he hasn't gotten the hint yet.)

I read from each of the four books I have going, both traditional and on the nook. 

And sometimes in between, I daydreamed about stories I have yet to write... 

 

Hope you're having a wonderful weekend!