Now I'd Like to Tell You My 9/11 Story

On one of those days when the sky was the kind of blue that made New Yorkers feel we were being rewarded for making it through another summer, the radio report came: a small plane had accidentally crashed into one of the World Trade Center towers. There was a small hole in the side of the building.

Nine years later, the story has been told. I just haven't told my story yet, the one about what I did with a friend of mine for the next four years after that.

I would like to tell the story about what went on in our hearts, which were filled with the scenes on the streets of New York -- in the first few days, the families thought that their brothers and fathers and sisters and husbands and wives were lost, not gone -- and they looked for them on the streets and in the hospitals...

...and the story of what went on in our heads -- confusion, first, and then a need to figure out what to do about it all. We thought a lot about the "Missing" posters that families held up to the TV cameras, the ones with the smiling faces on them, caught in their happiest moments, at their sister's wedding, or at their own...

...and we thought about their families, and what we could do for them.

So I will tell you what we did, but more importantly -- much, much more importantly -- how it feels to know that it did help the families, at least a little bit.

The families will know that we will never forget what happened on September 11, 2001. We will never forget their daughters and their sons and their mothers and their brothers and their fathers who died on that day.

Because their smiling faces are on this Flag of Remembrance, and it will hang in the National September 11 Memorial and Museum at the site of the World Trade Center for everyone to see...

...and to know that we will never forget.

I Love Top 10 Book Lists. Here's Mine.

For people that love books -- well, for me, at least, there's something about having someone compile a list of books they loved that is just so -- what's the word -- juicy.

I feel like just diving in, seeing if there are any that I've read also -- "Yes, I agree! That was great! It touched me too!" I don't have to know you, or even know who you are. You don't have to be an expert, or a publiched author, although I must admit I love when writers compile lists. With 8 gajillion books (or so) that have been written (so far), there are always books that I've never heard of, or haven't read yet, so if this is the twentieth time I've seen it on a list, I say, "maybe it's time to go for that one." Before it's too late (if you know what I mean).

And I love having my own book list. Well, it's a necessity, actually, because when someone asks me what books I've loved, I can't remember. Seriously. I forget. I swear, a book could have changed my life, or at least my view of the world, or made my cry or laugh out loud, and the minute I'm finished (OK, maybe within an hour), I forget the title, the plot, the subject matter. I swear this is true.

So here's my list, in no particular order (or degree of like, or date published or read). There is fiction and non-fiction, short stories and memoirs. You may notice there are no "classics" -- I'm always thinking I have to get back to those, but somehow I never do, so call me superficial, but these are all very, very good books. And they've all changed my life. Which makes them classics to me.

Crossing to Safety Wallace Stegner

Everything that needs to be said about marriage and friendship.

Bird by Bird Anne Lamott

If Anne Lamott knew how often I use the lesson from the title essay in my own life and in my parenting with her voice is in my head she would charge me rent.

Darkness Visible William Styron

Without a doubt the best (and shortest) description of depression ever written.

Middlesex Jeffrey Eugenides

Brilliant writing about a very strange, and strangely compelling, subject.

Sophie's Choice William Styron

If you haven't read this, don't see the movie first. Read this brilliance. How did Styron know what it's like to be a mother? Genius.

Bodies in Motion and at Rest Thomas Lynch

Essays about death written by an undertaker (I kid you not) that are surprisingly uplifting.

High Fidelity Nick Hornby

Admittedly a lighter read, but Hornby's skill with the "top 5 list" thing is the key to my reading heart. Funny, smart, and sweet.

Freedom Jonathan Franzen

Marriage, friendship, pop culture, parenting, politics, environment, education, relationships. I'm not done processing it all, but trust me. It's rich and full and compelling and there is no way I understand how someone can be this gifted of a writer.

Stories Raymond Carver

Anyone that reads or writes short stories must read this. I'm sure you have. Carver was a master.

Rules for Old Men Waiting Peter Pouncey

On love and loss -- what else is there? 

How do I have 1,892 Twitter followers?

...and are they my "friends"?

The answer to the first is, I don't know, really, I've just been at it a while, I guess, and I say what's on my mind, and I try to interact in Twitter-like ways. I'm not trying to sell anything, and I try to be polite. And sometimes maybe even informative. And 1,892 followers is not that many, relatively speaking, in a Twitterverse of millions.

The answer to the second is a bit more complicated.

Are they my friends IRL? (In Real Life). Um, no. But they could be. Maybe. Some of them. Are they friends in ways that are very, very important? Yes, some of them really are.

Let me give you an example. Katriord has been my Twitter "friend" (she follows me and I follow her) for a long time. We've never met. I don't know where she lives. We last exchanged a few tweets a couple of years ago, but even now, any time "@katriord" scrolls on my Twitter screen, it gets my attention.

I hadn't exchanged tweets with @katriord in months, but I remembered the excited tweet she sent out to the Twitterverse the first time she made the cover page of Open Salon (!) So when I thought about blogging but was fuhshtumeled (my mother's word that I only recently realized she used instead of saying bad words) about where to start, I called Kathy. Of course I didn't call her. I DMd her on Twitter.

You know the thing about DM? And about Kathy? She responded in about 10 seconds. "How do I do this?" "Why do you like OS?" "How long have you been doing this?" Yadayadayada. Must have been 15 DMs back and forth. She really wanted to help. And she really did. And there you go, and here I am, happily blogging away.

I love @sandiegommomma's tweets and I love her blog (which is riotously funny and sweet, which I'm sure she is also), which I wouldn't have known about if I didn't follow her on Twitter. I can imagine being her friend IRL. Next time I'm in San Diego (can't help knowing where she lives, duh), we may even have coffee.

I get to see what the media peeps are saying (mostly to each other, but that's another post), and it's almost always interesting, unless they're regurgitating a press release, which is not the point of Twitter at all, is it? But whatever, let them have their overblown-ego fun with each other. I like eavesdropping.

I tried some celebrities, but John Mayer made me sick and Ashton K. has nothing to offer (me) and the others are just dull. Kanye was entertaining for a while when he freaked out all over Taylor Swift with hundreds of tweets. Lindsay Lohan just makes me sad and it also makes me want to re-mother her, which of course would not be allowed so I don't follow her.

So, I have 1,892 followers because...I don't know. I like trying to say some things that come into my head and I think may be interesting (trust me, I know they are often so not) in 140 characters or less. And I guess it's just about 1,892 people that like to read them.

And then, when I have *a little* more to say, I come here.

Thanks, Kathy, my friend.

Put Your Hands on Me, Baby

If I could sing, I would do it like this.
The backup singers, the band, the attitude, the no-shoes, the I'm-really-feeling-this-song-and-I-know-you-are-too-ness of it.
Enjoy.

The 5 Things I've Done Since My Last Kid Left For College

1. I cried.

For me, not for them. But you can read all about that in my last post.

2. I threw a lot of stuff out. 

No, not their third grade book reports (not yet). Or their stuffed animals (not all of them). I threw out old, smelly sneakers (they couldn't bear to part with?) And some of my own junk too. All the stuff I thought I would need some day. Like bills from 1999. Really? Out.

I'm not sure why throwing things out feels so good -- a feeling of starting over? Well, I'm not starting over, exactly, I'm starting again, but back to that another time.

3. I started to write. 

My thoughts were all jumbled up inside my head, and I knew, from a long time ago, that the best (not the easiest, but the best) way to un-jumble was to write it all down. And make it make sense. Which I'm doing. I think.

4. I made my writing public.

Big leap for me."What will they think?" used to stop me. Now it starts me. I need the connection. I'm really curious: What do you think? Are you going through all this too?

5. I allowed myself to answer the question, "What what would you do if you could do anything?"

Because I can, now. Do anything, really. So I admitted (to myself) what I really want to do with all that education and all that wisdom I've invested (intensely and wholeheartedly) in my family for the last 24 (!) years. 

And I'm keeping that answer to myself for now, because it's new and a little fragile to me. But I'll keep you posted.

Please don't ask me what it feels like to be an empty-nester

Maybe I'd feel better if the question everyone's been asking me lately was, "How does it feel to be a $2 million lottery winner?" or  "How does it feel to be the new Sports Illustrated swimsuit cover model?"

No, my cliche-question-du-jour, every jour for the last 15 jours has been, "How does it feel to be an empty-nester?" said, believe it or not, as if this was a clever and original inquiry that not only shows how aware-of-my-current-situation the questioner is, but also pretends to be, what, I don't even know, sympathetic? Envious? Bizarrely curious about life-almost-one-foot-in-the grave? (Yeah, my friends are all younger than me, and they think they'll  never catch up to how old I am. I used to think I'd never be this old either, you sillies).

"How does it feel to be an empty-nester?" Doesn't that refer to a mommy bird? How long are birds moms for, like two weeks, before their baby birds fly away to the University of Michigan to watch football high above that ginormous stadium with their new bird friends?

I've been a mom for one thousand two hundred and thirty seven weeks. And now my nest is empty. Snap your fingers and they're gone. Only it wasn't a snap of the fingers. It was long, long nights of waking at their slightest baby whimpers and holding them close to me, pretending that I had some special mommy love that could soothe them, and longer nights of sitting on the floor next to their bed, listening to their self-doubts and their fears, hoping that my special mommy love could make them feel better. 

So please don't ask me a question as if I'm a mommy bird that said goodbye-good-luck-with-the-worm-thing to her baby bird. 

How about, "How are you?"

And I'll tell you, "I'm OK, thanks. I can't believe I got here this fast. I can't believe what a  long, tough road it's been. I can't believe how hard I worked at parenting. I can't believe how wonderful my children are. No, I'm not sure what I'm going to do next. Do you mean tomorrow? I'm going to throw a lot of junk out. I'm going to clean out their rooms and organize my office and give old clothes away. But after that? I don't know. This is a big change after one thousand two hundred and thirty seven weeks."

And if you listen really carefully (I'm not sure you'll hear it because it's inside my heart) I'll tell you that I am praying that my special mommy love from all those days and all those nights is tucked so deep inside of them that it will keep them feeling loved and safe always.