Keeps Going

It's September 11th, 2011.

It's a big day for this beautiful country.

My husband is out of town. Before he left he said, "You know I was flying out of Baltimore on September 11th ten years ago and I'll be flying again on September 11th." He said it in a cavalier way. It left a small catch in my throat but no time to think on that day because, well, my children were up and it was just another ordinary day to us. Lunches to make. Children to clothe.

Today is Sunday. I had all intentions of going to church this morning. What better way to spend such a reflective day?

Eve woke up with a runny, goopy nose and I thought better of exposing the other children to their first fantastic cold of the year. Plus, I want to remain friends with their mothers. :)

So I did what I do best during times of reflection: I cook. Gives my hands something to do while my mind ruminates. This morning I'm making a root vegetable soup that simmers in white wine and chicken broth. It's earthy and satisfying. The colors of the soup beckon fall.

In the background, I have Good Morning America on the television. "America Remembers." Children of 9/11 are speaking about the fathers they never met. The new 9/11 memorial is prominently in the middle of the screen, hauntingly beautiful with its vast dark square holes, memories of the twin tower footprints. It's exquisite.

In a moment of reflection, I realize that I'm immensely proud of America. We could have used that real estate for new buildings, new commerce. But instead we remembered a very important place in our history. We put aside the dollar. Planted trees. Built waterfalls. Felt the names engraved on the periphery of the falls. We refused to forget this humbling, horrible day. We refuse to to let it crush us either.

While I'm simmering the soup and listening to the background of the broadcast, my little Eve is barking. "Wan watch Wild Kratts! Wan watch Wild Kratts," she shouts again and again. She wants today to be like every day. She wants to watch her little program about animals. "Am-mi-mals," she calls them. She has no idea that this day is special in so many ways. I admire her innocence.

Frustrated, she turns on my ipod and begins to dance. "Wan dance! Wan dance," she demands. She wants me to dance with her.

Life is that way, isn't it? Pulled in so many directions. Laughing while crying while remembering while cooking while parenting and wiping runny noses.

Can't contain life. It's bursting forth with sounds and colors and textures of seasons.

Some we don't want to remember. Some we will never forget.