Today is the day, 7 years ago my husband woke me up at 5:55 in the morning and said “I think you better come down and watch TV with me”, which was an odd request until I got downstairs and took in the devastation that was New York City. We sat there with my 12 year old daughter and my 14 year old son and I think we all had a “What the fuck?” expression on our faces. I friend who had been watching in Milwaukee called and said what hadn’t even crept into my mind “What about your brothers?” What about my brothers? Shit, what about my brothers! Bob and Peter. What about them? Couple of quick phone calls, phones don’t work, email? To slow, attempt a call to London for my sister? Of course that didn’t work.
Then I began to hear the rumbling over head. Large AWAC planes stationed at the military airport very near by started a parade east. Tiny Fighter jets almost seemed to pull ahead like a faster car passing a slow SUV on the highway. It was a sickening sound that went on for hours. Because of the bad weather they were flying disconcertingly low. That was the sound that made me feel like “do something, do something”. I told the kids to forget about school and we hopped in the car and went to the Catholic Church and … the doors were locked. All of them. "No, you can’t come inside and pray at a moment in the world where perhaps prayer would be very very important". So we got back in the car and I said to my husband that the Church lost me at that moment. I was kind of done with the Catholic Church. Buh-bye. My parents later tried to explained that the Priests were probably watching the T.V. also but I still thought at the time if you needed to pray and the world was kind of falling apart, the doors would be open. Just like they taught us in Sunday school. Reverting to the pagan side of me I thought how allot of cultures believe that prayer is strongest outside and not in a structure built by man, outside was God’s house so we went to a park and held our hands and hoped for the best. I dropped my kids off at school without a “please excuse their tardinest”note and went home to watch more T.V. like the rest of the country.
I was the closest thing to a New Yorker many of my Seattle friends have so they starting appearing at the door in the afternoon and I did what many Women, Moms, and Parents do best. I cooked.
I made peach pie, with a crust from scratch (not my forte). I peeled the peaches correctly, boiling water for a minute and ice water for another minute. I made spaghetti and meatballs, each meatball tiny and perfectly shaped. I made macaroni and cheese, drawing on my knowledge of the “Mother Sauces” to do it correctly. I cooked and cooked, it kept me busy, and then we ate and ate with all my friends on the front porch then I got an Email from Bob that he was O.K. and then the phones kicked in and my Dad said Peter was O.K. It was one of the crappiest day of my life, up there with “Honey, I’ve been laid off”, “Mrs. Fallone, your husband actually needs quintuple bypass surgery perhaps you should call family” and the ever popular “Julie, Jim has cancer” . I do acknowledge that, as shallow as it is, and it’s what we all do, that Peach Pie and Spaghetti and Meatballs (or what ever you choice is) can actually help a little.
Peter and Bob, I love you both.
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