11 September

Today's date is one that is spoken in capital letters, a date that can never be mentioned without a catch in the voice.

I was at home that morning. I was between jobs (a nice way of saying unemployed) and because my severance pay from the job I was laid off from had ended, I had an appointment at the unemployment office. I did not have the television or the radio on, unaware of the horror that was unfolding. James called me and asked if I would turn on the television and tell him what was happening, because their office at JFK had mentioned something before their telephone communications went down.

I was astounded. I would tell him what I was seeing and then he would tell the other people in the office. The second plane hit while we were talking. I finally had to leave to go to the unemployment office and when I got arrived, there was a television on in the waiting area. I was waiting to be called when the first tower fell. The woman sitting next to me grabbed my hand and we sat there, holding hands and crying. I had never seen her before and I have never seen her since, but at that moment, we comforted each other.

I had to run an errand on the way home and when I walked into whatever store it was, the cashier took one look at me and we both started crying again. It was all I could do to drive home.

Amidst all the tears, I remember being angry - and I am still angry. That janitors and administrative assistants and waiters and receptionists and accountants and any number of “ordinary” people, just trying to make a living, went to their seemingly safe job that day and were murdered.

My friend Val’s husband is a pilot for Northwest and was flying that day. She was, of course, in a panic until she heard that it was an American Airlines airplane and a United airplane…she realized that at the same moment she was breathing a sigh of relief, some other spouse/partner/child/parent was experiencing the opposite emotion.

11 September 2001. It seems like a world away but it also seems like yesterday.

90 Minutes in Purgatory, Part Two

Believe it or not, the blog post 90 Minutes in Hell was a somewhat watered-down version of what I sent to my group of friends back in North Carolina. And while they saw the amusement in it and understood my frustration, more than one of them replied with something along the lines of "MaryAnne, this is a clear sign that you need to get involved and whip that group into shape!" Huh? Never, for one moment, was that a thought in my mind as I spouted off.

I do like having the free time to volunteer and that was one of my goals when I became a SAHM. But I have no aspirations to seeking any kind of leadership position in my local PTO. I will happily work in Aidan's class (I start next week), serve as a reading tutor (I have committed to working with two students each week) and helping out in other ways. And while new blood is always welcome, somehow I think that me charging in with my mandate of streamlining monthly meetings would be welcomed as much as a nest of fire ants.

My friend Stephanie pointed out that if I did pursue and achieve PTO leadership, I might then next take on the role of Vice President of the US! Be afraid, people, be very afraid...