Remembering you today.
You in the planes. You at your desk, on the 100th floor. You bussing tables at Windows on the World. You in the Pentagon. You on the ground, in the sky.
We were talking about it at dinner tonight. First time I have talked about it in a while. I used to talk about it all the time, but healing means moving on, to a large extent.
But it's Memorial Day. And, while I am grateful for the sacrifices made for my freedom by the men and women both long- and too recently- gone, it was you that I thought about, today.
For the first time in a long time, I gave in to the images, thought about the plane hitting the pentagon, thought about what it was like for the people in Arlington who saw the plane, the people on the 14th Street Bridge--my bridge, the bridge I cross every day--who saw it happen. Thought about the families, thought about where I was when I heard, who I told, how I felt.
Been a while since I let myself feel it.
So, you know, just...
Remembering you today.
I am not sure how I got sucked in, but I did.
Oprah is making me read Anna Karenina.
First, I gotta say that I love Oprah. I am addicted to Oprah. I trust that Oprah gives wise council.
If Oprah told me that I should eat more Chickpeas, I'd buy them by the case. If she told me that Orange really was the new blue, I'd paint my couch. If she told me to read Anna Karenina, I'd rush out and buy the special book club edition.
Wait. That actually happened. :)
The thing is that I am a reader. I read stuff. I read magazines. I read the Internet. I read billboads. I read cereal boxes. And, I read books, mysteries mostly these days, but I also dabble in contemporary literature. I've read my share of Pulitzer winners, of American Book Awardeds. I like a good book, a ripping yarn as my buddy John would say.
But--and this is huge--I'm not big on the classics. I managed a liberal arts degree without ever taking a lit class--don't ask how, I'm sure that it involved chicken's blood and an ancient artifact of some kind--and so am woefully inadequate when it comes to the classics. I read Ivanhoe in high school. I read Gatsby and The Three Musketeers in grad school--for fun, not for a class. But back then, I fancied myself a bit of an intellectual and those books reinforced that laughable image. I guess I read a little Shakespeare, now and then, but always preferred my Bard in the live action format--on the stage.
No, mostly, I read for pleasure and reading classics always seemed like work.
But I'm reading Anna Karenina, maybe because I think that doing hard things occasionally makes you a better person. Maybe because the book was mentioned in a Buffy/Giles story I was reading the other day and the synchronicity was too powerful to be denied. Maybe I'm just a hopeless fan-girl desperate for Oprah's approval.
Maybe--just maybe--I have lost my flipping mind.
I'll let you know how it shakes out.
Well, I am 75% of the way through my long weekend, and I can say that I have done nothing since Friday afternoon.
Well, nothing might be a bit extreme. But I haven't done much.
Friday night, we scooted out to Annapolis for a bit. John had a guitar lesson and I wanted to hit the used CD store. I bought some new George Michael (un-used) and some old George Michael (used). We went to Red Robin and I had a good cheeseburger.
Saturday, Philip came over and we played my recently-acquired Settlers of Cataan game--he won--and contemplated going to see Life of Brian in re-release. We didn't do that, although I am having trouble remembering why. I think that it was because it was late and John wanted to fish on Sunday, which he did.
So, Sunday, John went fishing and Philip and I went to 5 Guys for lunch--yummy fries!--and then, while we waited for John to get back from the fishing, I demanded a rematch. This time, the cards and dice were kind to me and I kicked a little Cataan butt. We didn't go to the movie again on Sunday, though, and again, I am unsure why. I did begin, at this point, to wonder if we would actually muster the energy to go at any point. Anyway, we went to Bugaboo, where I had a really wonderfully-cooked steak and some yummy mashed potatoes, plus some strawberry shortcake. The mushrooms were lame (I really need to remember that I don't like them there), but the waiter was delightful, so that made up for it somewhat.
Today, I sat. In the chair, in the living room. I watched some TV, I surfed the net. I tickled the cats. In short, I did nothing, till evening, when Philip came over and we went to the Bob. I got some pancakes and coconut creme pie. Then we headed to Borders where I picked up a couple books and a DVD --Bubba HoTep!--which brings us to now.
So, to sum up what I did with my holiday weekend, I slept, I bathed, I watched some TV, I read some Internet, I bought a new book. I watched a baseball game. I watched a bad Steve Martin movie. I had a good steak, two good cheeseburgers, some yummy fries, some lame mushrooms, toast, ramen noodles, pancakes and coconut creme pie.
We never did make it to Life of Brian.
We did nothing taxing, nothing exciting.
Just the way I like it.