Saturday, September 11, 2010

911, nine years later

What have we learned?
It doesn't feel as though we have come together.  The random kindness that existed during the weeks that followed 911 have vanished, replaced by road rage, fear and loathing.  Here in New York State, we see a kind of ugliness that is undefined.  It's as if people are afraid all of the time and pissed off, believing that prosperity is nowhere near to being around their corner.  We suffer with extraordinary taxes in NYS and people are loosing their homes, their livelihoods.  Food prices soar, but 'living wages' are non existent and the middle class has disappeared.  We live pay cheque to pay cheque.   And it's hard to get excited about Chelsea Clinton's wedding in Rhinebeck when 15 miles away children are hungry, parents are desperate, and someone ends up dead after a Saturday night shooting.  These are mean times.  And I am trying to keep my sense of humor, my humanity. I want to gather my family even tighter and hold on.  
I have not visited the city since 911.  It's time to step onto a train and go.  There are places to visit, people to see, there is ART waiting to be viewed.  Pushing fear aside may be what I can do, for today.  It might be a very good start, indeed.  
Scott and I took Mom to the nursing home to visit Dad, and then we jetted her down to the Italian Festival for a little bit of lunch.
She's so beautiful, God I PRAY that I inherited her genes!  We had an eggplant dish, fried calamari (oh, how I will PAY for that later!) and Scott had sausage and peppers.
And of course, Scott gets to pay for everything now AND later!
People who know us know that ours is a tumultuous relationship.  We are, both of us, highly opinionated, passionate, stubborn people.  But Scott has the soft heart.  He does.  He went into the nursing home and helped the aide move and change my Dad.  And my Dad broke into an enormous grin when he saw and heard Scott's ample voice.  That's good enough for me.  Go ahead Scott, go golfing until it snows!  And I promise to keep my opinions and my honey-do list to myself.  Maybe.

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