The Day After
Being that I was on the road for most of yesterday, I didn’t do a 9/11-related post. Even if I had been home, I probably wouldn’t have done one, because there are so many that have already written about it far more eloquently than I could. But I do have three related notes:
1. Yesterday was our 6-month wedding anniversary. Yes, we got married on the anniversary of the Madrid train bombings. And yes, we went to Spain on our honeymoon. Make of that what you will.
2. When we arrived home from North Carolina around 5 p.m. yesterday, Lord Kissington pointed out something. If this had been 9/11, we might have gone the whole drive home without knowing about it. His parents are retired and their mornings are spent in a leisurely fashion, with no TV or radio on. We didn’t listen to the radio at all in the car on our way home. So, it’s possible we wouldn’t have known anything had happened until we arrived home and I turned on the TV. Kind of surreal.
3. My 9/11 memories are pretty hazy, but what stands out most are the days after, everyone just being in a daze. I was sick as a dog the day after with a bad cold, and that left me with laryngitis. That weekend, I was at my favorite local watering hole, and a guy I had dated the previous spring suddenly showed up. Things had ended badly, and he chose that night to try to talk it out with me. In response to his apologies, all I could croak out was, “You’re just lucky I can’t talk tonight, because you would so be hearing from me.” Except that, had I been able to speak, I probably wouldn’t have bothered to scream at him, because to paraphrase Rick Blaine, our petty little issues didn’t amount to a hill of beans in this fucked-up world.
1. Yesterday was our 6-month wedding anniversary. Yes, we got married on the anniversary of the Madrid train bombings. And yes, we went to Spain on our honeymoon. Make of that what you will.
2. When we arrived home from North Carolina around 5 p.m. yesterday, Lord Kissington pointed out something. If this had been 9/11, we might have gone the whole drive home without knowing about it. His parents are retired and their mornings are spent in a leisurely fashion, with no TV or radio on. We didn’t listen to the radio at all in the car on our way home. So, it’s possible we wouldn’t have known anything had happened until we arrived home and I turned on the TV. Kind of surreal.
3. My 9/11 memories are pretty hazy, but what stands out most are the days after, everyone just being in a daze. I was sick as a dog the day after with a bad cold, and that left me with laryngitis. That weekend, I was at my favorite local watering hole, and a guy I had dated the previous spring suddenly showed up. Things had ended badly, and he chose that night to try to talk it out with me. In response to his apologies, all I could croak out was, “You’re just lucky I can’t talk tonight, because you would so be hearing from me.” Except that, had I been able to speak, I probably wouldn’t have bothered to scream at him, because to paraphrase Rick Blaine, our petty little issues didn’t amount to a hill of beans in this fucked-up world.
posted by Lady Tiara @ 1:53 AM
3 Comments:
At 9/13/06, 3:01 AM,
Kathryn Is So Over said…
Another 9/11 memory: our mutual friend divorce calling everyone, crying, because no one was willing to come into the city from Virginia to celebrate her birthday. Actual words that came out of her mouth: "now my birthday will never be the same. It's so unfair."
Hill of beans, anyone?
At 9/13/06, 4:29 AM,
Anonymous said…
My parents had no idea 9/11 was happening for most of the day.
My Dad and mom had driven to another town for a Dr's appt and hadn'r seen a tv all day and they didn't have cell service.
I called them that night screaming at them and got, what are you talking about? The only two people in America who didn't know about 9/11.
beauty and the beltway
At 9/14/06, 2:24 AM,
Lady Tiara said…
kathryn: oh, renee. one friend divorce i can't regret. hill of beans, indeed.
beauty: it really freaked me out to realize we could have gone the whole day not knowing.
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