Not to Be Cliche

Nine years ago this morning, I grabbed a bowl of Frosted Mini Wheats and sat down to watch the morning news on Chicago's WGN. As far as I knew, it was a normal morning. The news showed a smoking building. Between my crunches, I heard them say something about a "plane accident" and one of the "Trade Buildings" or something along those lines. At that point, I had very little knowledge of the towers. I gathered that it was in NY, but nothing more.

Before my bowl of cereal was even gone, the newscaster became very disoriented and was stammering. I realize now that what he was trying to do was to somehow cover the fact that the second building had just been hit (Wow, tearing up as I type this. Didn't expect that one). There was confusion and chaos in the newsroom for sure.

I considered calling my boyfriend Rodney. But he worked third shift and was sleeping. I figured it would still be news to him when he woke up in the afternoon, so I let him sleep. One of his coworkers called and woke him anyway.

Well I got ready for school, and off I went. By the time I got into the car, they were already mentioning terrorism and Osama Bin Laden. I thought everyone was a little fruity for pulling out the big "T" word. I mean really? They called the Oklahoma City bombing terrorism. Some planes got on the wrong course and hit some buildings.

But just during my short trip to school that morning, one building had fallen, and they had convinced me that it could indeed have been a terrorist act. But seriously "terrorist"? I didn't even fully understand the meaning of the term.

I felt like my mom,listening to WBBM on my drive in to ECC that morning. On the walk from my car to the building, the parking lot was not filled with the usual thump of bass from peoples' rap music, but the buzz of broadcasters' voices. Every car.

The almost constant sound of jets flying overhead in and out of Midway/O-Hare Airport was gone. Never in my entire life had I heard silent morning skies in the Chicago area.

Walking into school was even more sobering. People rushing to and from classes and couples snuggling together were all replaced by the bulk of the student body standing in front of the large, dingy-pictured television. Everyone watching for something new. Something redeeming. Instead there was more coverage. More NY, and now the Pentagon.

I found a guy I had gone to high school with but had never talked to. I stood by him. Partially because he was big, and it gave me the first feeling of safety I had had in the last hour, and partially because it was just a familiar face. I remember saying to him "I don't want to go to war." He calmly shook his head-- still staring at the TV screen.

Breaking away from the television, I began the trek to my class. Many people were crying in the hallways. I came across one friend of mine who was just a total wreck. Her mom worked in the Sears Tower. The news told us that it was being evacuated, but cell phone reception wasn't a usable thing at that point in the day. I remember thinking about my own parents who worked about 30 miles from the city. What if it changed from planes to bombs?

I found out later that the daughter of my mom's boss had been living in NY at the time and working downtown. She reported seeing bits of body parts and lots of paper flying in the air. It's funny the things you remember when you're in a situation like that. I imagine there was so much more to see and hear and feel. But that's what she told about.

Anyway, to class I went. Our professor came in with a straight face and told us that we were going to go on with our day as if nothing had happened. "These are terrorists," he started. "Their intention is to mess up our lives. And so that's what we're not going to let them do." Something like that anyway. One girl was sobbing. I wanted to hurt him. I didn't like him before that, but man oh man he's lucky I love Jesus and needed to keep a good example in front of my peers. I understand his intentions. And none of us knew how to react. I just think he chose poorly.

I got home and started journaling about the day's events. In fact, I remember writing that even though this was impossible to process "now," I knew that it would one day be "just a page in Aspen and Jeremiah's history books." It's funny now to think about my kids being named that long ago :) Anyway, I couldn't even remember Bin Laden's name to journal it. Which is also funny now, since it's a name we'll never forget.

I went to Lone Star that evening to work. Understandably, not many people came in for steak that night. Something about cherishing family, yadda yadda :) So the bartender, manager, and I sat for most of the night watching the news and video footage of Iraq getting the heck bombed out of it by "an unknown assailant." Ha! You don't kick the shin of the biggest kid in class and expect him not to retaliate.

The few guests that we did have come in were very authentic. There wasn't the usual small talk and useless upselling. We talked about the obvious things.

I don't remember much else from the day. I'm sure my journal would enlighten me, but that would require finding it :)

What I do remember is going to bed that night. It's the only time I've ever been afraid that I may not wake up the next morning.

I wish I knew someone personally that I could thank for helping all the victims of 9-11. I can thank the troops who have spend the last 8 years (or whatever it's been) fighting for not only our freedom, but the freedom of the citizens of terrorist countries. I can hardly imagine such selflessness. Thank you.

Echos of Footsteps

I run. While that could easily branch out into any number of deep thoughts, today I am referring simply to the action of running. Running as in marathons, expensive shoes, dogs chasing you, awkward encounters with cars and intersections. Old fashioned burn-off-your-legs running.

The route I typically take brings me under two sets of overpasses. One of these sets shadows a wider, more open section of road. But the other is built into a hill with the road lying closer to its cement legs.

Gosh I am sucking at writing today. "Cement legs?"

Here's the jist. When I'm running under the tighter overpass, I can more easily hear my footsteps. It used to annoy me because it made me self-conscious. My right foot falls louder (which I assume means harder) than my left. And since I don't know what that indicates, I don't like it.

I've come to accept the fact that one foot is louder than the other, and I don't care anymore. In fact, I almost find solace in the sound of my footsteps. To the point where I feel a sense of loneliness once I'm past the bridge. I'm back to being all alone. Just me and the road. For miles.

It occurred to me today that the echo is like God's daily presence. I'm not talking about Him moving or speaking or doing amazing things-- which He does :) But His simply "being" in my life. It's quiet. It's barely noticeable. But once I'm out from under it, I'm lonely. I want the echo. I want to hear and to know that someone's there. I can't see it. I can't touch it. But it's comforting, and I KNOW when it's not there.

Ha, another aspect of it that I just thought of is that we can run to it and run from it :) We all do one or the other. In fact, I'd venture to say that we're all choosing one of those options at every moment of our lives.

It's certainly not the strongest analogy I've ever run across ("run" get it?), but it was interesting candy for my brain this morning.