9/11

It's funny the things you remember. Some things are seared into your mind. Other things, I can't seem to remember, although I thought I would remember things always. 15 years later, here is what I recall.

I don't think I've ever written about 9/11. I was 23. It seems odd that my recollections of that day would now be a part of history. But I think it's fair to say that 9/11 changed my life and my perspective and basically changed my world. I was living with a boyfriend at the time, K, in the Valley. I worked at Baxter, manufacturing Factor VIII for hemophiliacs. It was a good job, with good people, but a bit boring. I worked noon-10pm, Sunday -Wednesday so my schedule was a little odd. 9/11 was a Tuesday, so I had worked the night before and had probably come home around 10:30-11pm. I usually went to bed around 12 or 1am. It was hard to wind down after a long day at work. K woke me up around 6:30am, CA time (9:30am NY time). He worked an 8-5 job, and I can't really remember where he was working. I have a feeling it was in this somewhat tall building in Woodland Hills, right off the 101. It was the only high rise for miles. I remember being confused, concerned. He told me there was a terrorist attack. My Dad called. He was really worried. He told me there were lots of planes unaccounted for and they thought they were headed to LA next. He wanted me to leave. I don't know why I didn't. I think maybe even then I thought my Dad was over-reacting. I mean, things were happening 3000 miles away, it would be at least 5 hrs till they got here, right? I remember being so confused. Confusion would be the main feeling I felt for a long time. Until the sadness. I don't know if I saw people jump. I do remember the towers collapsing, live on TV. They didn't think they would collapse. The TV anchors at a loss for words. But down they went. I remember asking K if it was safe for him to go to work in the high rise. I think his work was cancelled. I must have gotten a phone call from my shift lead, Nicky. He told me to come in to work. Things were so uncertain, but drug manufacturing stops for no one. It was good, better to be with people. We worked in this place we called the "area". It was actually really awesome. You had to gown in to come into the manufacturing area so our mangers hardly ever came to see us. It was like our own private club with funny bunny suits. Since we were deep inside this building, we got no radio signal. Except for the local Thousand Oaks radio station, it played soft rock/pop and had terrible DJs. When I got to work, the radio was on, but it was playing NPR. Probably the first time I had ever heard NPR, or really listened to it. They were reporting on the WTC, and also the Pentagon and the plane that went down in PA (although no one knew why that one went down at the time). We were glued to the radio, but not much information came out. We were all shell shocked. But we spent so much time together that it was a little bit like being with your family. Everyone was gentle with each other that day. The rivalries were gone for a minute. I don't remember leaving or coming home that night. I have one other distinct memory. K and I were driving and I'm not sure why. It must have been that weekend after 9/11. We were in the Valley, and every street corner had people on it, holding candles, hugging, crying. There were people everywhere. It was very odd. There are never people walking it the Valley. It's just too hot. And people in LA are too busy to walk. It was an odd event. It was lovely to see, but also odd to take in. Like I was witnessing something I shouldn't have. Something I wasn't necessarily included in.
In the following weeks, we listened to NPR more and more. The radio station took forever to switch back to it's terrible music. But eventually it did. And eventually we got back to dancing around to the silly music. Or making fun of the DJs. Eventually, we got back to our own lives.
I remember seeing lists of people missing. Families posting pictures of their loved ones, and all the smiling faces all over downtown NYC. All the victims were young - my age. Just going to work. A regular day. The stories emerged. About the guy taking his kid to kindergarten, so he was late. The other guy who was sick that day. The one who survived out of the many. The first responders. The people leading each other down the stairwells. The acts of heroics. The downing of the plane by the passengers. "Let's Roll". The estimates that tens of thousands of people had died. The reality that many more would have died had the planes been just a little bit later.
After I moved to Philly, I met lots of people who had "just missed" stories. A friend's Dad was on the last train through the WTC before the planes hit. Another friend worked at Columbia (Harlem) and lived in Brooklyn. She had to walk over 100 blocks home since they closed the subways and stopped traffic. So many stories. So many lives changed forever.
I'd like to think that 9/11 inspired me to go to grad school. To expand my horizons. To chase my dreams. But I was already looking forward to grad school. I was already planning to apply. I was already planning my escape, both from drug manufacturing and from my boyfriend, K. I left for Philadelphia in Jun 2003, and I tried really hard not to look back. But I do have to say, even to this day, I look around at my fellow passengers on a plane and I wonder if any could be hijackers. If any want to bring down the plane. I usually don't dwell on that thought. And my flights are so packed that anyone would have a time trying to hijack one, that's for sure.
I'm not sure what the legacy of 9/11 is, other than saying I have lived and grieved through a national tragedy. I remember being a teenager, listening to my family talk about tragedy. Talk about JFK's assassination, about plane crashes or automobile accidents. Crazy stories told from eyewitnesses. "Where were you when....". Those stories always had somewhat of a romantic feel to them. They were far removed from my life, this time. I already knew how they turned out. I wanted to know the gory details, not really thinking how my questions were hurting those I was talking to. Now I know. 9/11 is a scar. It's not always visible. But it's there. And, even now, on the 15th anniversary, the tears for those people are fresh. #neverforget

D's latest story

One time when I was a baby I went to the forest by myself with my tent and my sleeping bag and my pillow. I heard a mountain lion ROAR and I didn't run away. I followed him to the store and he put on some clothes. And then we ate chocolate ice cream.

Book review: A Piece of Cake by Cupcake Brown

I borrowed this book from Randi a few weeks ago. I've heard her talk about this book and I've seen it on several "must read" book lists, so I dug right in. This book is insane. This woman's life is insane. There are not words to do this justice, trust me. The book begins with Cupcake finding her mother dead in their house. Prior to this, it sounds like she had a pretty normal life - it all changes with her mother's death. She quickly find out that her father is not her father - he's her stepfather. Her real father wants the money associated with her mother's death but does not want her. So, she ends up in a foster home where the foster mother beats her and just basically wants the money for raising her. She ends up running away (at age 11), hitchhiking around town and prostituting herself. Oh, this is after she is raped by her foster mom's nephew. The story gets worse and worse - she ends up in a gang, doing drive-by shootings, robbing people, sometimes having a job, sometimes not. She gets heavily into alcohol and drugs, gets shot, moves from place to place scamming people and living in filth. About 500 pages into this book, she ends up living behind a dumpster, turning tricks and smoking crack. She eventually sees herself in the window of a shop and can't believe what she sees. She decides to pray and ask for help and the little voice in her head says to her to go to her boss (somehow she did have a job - a pretty good one, too) and ask for help. Her journey out of the pits of hell is a memorable one. She goes to rehab, joins AA, gets a sponsor and asks for help. Lots and lots of help. She goes back to school, takes 5 years to get her AA, then goes to state school to get her bachelor's degree. Her dream is to apply to law school and she works her butt off to get into law school. The end of the book, she is graduating from law school, surrounded by the people who love and support her through it all. This book is stunning. Unbelievable. Inspirational. Heartbreaking. I highly, highly recommend it.
As an aside, this book also appealed to my teacher side: Cup talk about getting into law school (just one) because the school decided to look at her WHOLE application instead of just the numbers from a test or her GPA. I found this incredibly informative - perhaps one of the reasons we are losing non-traditional students and minorities in school is because of this absurd system of blanket tests with required scores. Maybe we should open up a little more, let a few more people in, and then we might be aiding someone like Cupcake Brown who is now serving her community as a lawyer.

Another book

I just finished Gone Girl. I thought it might be a good read, thought it might be a bit of a thriller, a page turner. A little bit different from what I've been reading. It was some of those things. It was definitely not what I expected. It's the first book I've ever read where I hated the characters. I mean, I started the book and I really couldn't stand either of the characters at all. I am unsure why I kept reading the book, except to say that I was interested to see how the characters got out of the situations they put themselves in. I do have to say that it does make you appreciate your life and what you have. But overall, don't read this book. It will only make you angry and it will kinda make you dislike yourself for keeping reading it.

Wknd wrap up

This is what happens when our smoke alarm goes insane

We went to a kids museum on Friday

Fun stuff!

Construction stuff in La Honda - Mana, lemme show you something cool - STEAMROLLER!

Garfield made me think of my Dad

D was off Thurs & Fri so he went to the beach with Dada on Thurs and D & I got donuts & hit the PA kids museum on Friday. Saturday, we hit the farmers market in HMB then headed to a pool party by Alex's boss. Sunday was a chill at home day with Alex riding his bike and me getting ready for the week. We watched Wreck it Ralph (super cute!) and called it a night.

First day of preschool!

In his big new classroom!

The Shell Seekers

I've been reading a lot lately. Books, I mean. This year has been beyond stressful, and books can be so comforting and such a lovely escape. I've recently notices that even my usual reading material, namely Facebook, the NYTimes and science news has become incredibly stressful. FB is hard to read because of the sheer numbers of people who post things that I just cannot agree with. I also see too many things that I don't want to see - the bad far outweighs the good on FB these days. I think reading the NYTimes is also stressful - this election, shit blowing up, people being batshit insane - it's just too much. And science, well, I'm stressed out about publishing, finding a job, etc, etc, so it's stressful to see cool science published when I know I have so much on my plate to deal with.
So I started with Harry Potter, naturally. I love that series and I've read it about a hundred times. It was nice to visit the world again, I always notice something new or forgotten. It's like returning to your childhood bedroom again, after all these years.
At my mom's house, I raided her library - always a good idea. She had had these books by Rosamunde Pilcher for years and years. I remember seeing them on our shelves when I was a kid. I hated the way they looked - all flowery and pastel colored. But my mom called them "gentle", which was exactly the type of book I was looking for. So, I came home with a bunch and I've just now finished The Shell Seekers. I'm not actually sure what this book was about. Family, I suppose, is the easiest answer. But it was so much more that that. The book follows Penelope, at the beginning of the book, a grandmother who has just had a heart attack, is returning home after being in hospital. As cliché as is sounds, this book is like an onion. It's only until you reach the end that you see all the ends tied together and all the stories come into one. Penelope's father was an artist, and his art is experiencing a resurgence in the market. She has only three of his works, and two of her children jump on her to sell the works, mostly because they want the money. Only one child, her daughter, Olivia, tells her to do what she wants with the paintings. Olivia is well off, a career woman with no family, and has made her own way in the world. The reader then gets taken on a journey of Penelope's life - her upbringing, her marriage, the birth of her children. She lived through WWII in England, raised children in London. Experienced the Bohemian art scene and the horrors of war. She really is an amazing character. Her children and their stories intertwine with hers, as well as some new characters that she meets along the way. In the end, Penelope herself decides what to do with her paintings, and the whole story ends quite satisfactorily.
Once I got into this book, I couldn't put it down. But I can't exactly tell you why. What the characters do in the story is quite mundane. Penelope is a retired grandmother and had almost always been a home-maker, so all the "action" of the story is the mundane of life - making tea, having a drink, putting the wash out to dry, gardening. The characters, both good and bad, make this story. They are so interesting and mostly likable, that I wanted to sit in a kitchen with most of them and have a cup of tea. The scene descriptions were beautiful - the sounds, the smells, the ambience. It was a lovely read, and just like my mom said, very "gentle".