Two Years

Waking up to it

Just yesterday, I was commenting on how much less aware I have been of the September 11 anniversary this year. Last year I took the day off and spent most of it at the Cathedral. I wore a white dress, and listened to the reading of the names, sitting in the shadowy choir stall as I watched the sun move across the colored apse windows. Today I'm going to work, though I have planned to go to a church service this evening.

I've been a bit disgusted at the way it's already been absorbed into the culture. My Franklin Planner has it listed as "Patriot's Day." It makes me feel a little ashamed of how we have debased other once-solemn holidays, particularly Memorial Day. I suppose someday this could be enshrined by the Monday-holiday law as the perfect vacation week, incorporating the Labor Day break into a 12-day string.

When I woke up this morning, I had been having survival dreams, of sleeping in a cave and huddling close to the others and our gear to battle the chill and keep out of sight. This is not a typical sort of dream imagery for me at all, and I was puzzled by it until I stumbled out of bed and flipped on the news. Oh yeah. Something in my reptile brain still remembers.

Work day

I was really nervous about being overcome by a wave of bogus jingoism when I went out today. I prepared myself by pinning a "Peace is Patriotic" badge to the lapel of my suit jacket. Our young assistant was the only one to comment on it (positively!), but I feel better for keeping my sentiments visible and public.

I think a lot of people have taken the day off. I left extra time for the subway, but it was less crowded than usual. Freeway traffic out to Big Publishing Company was heavy, though, so we missed the corporate Moment of Silence. They had scheduled it for 8:46, when the first plane hit. Other people seemed to have chosen the fall of the first tower. Funny how even something everyone agrees on can be expressed so differently. Of course, 8:46 is the cynical corporate choice; most people are still milling around with their coffee then, if they have arrived at all. Respect without loss of productivity.

I have a secret memorial at work. It's a copy of the New York Times from September 11, 2001, the last newspaper published before the attacks. I don't usually buy the paper, but I had purchased it that morning, for reasons now forgotten. It lies intact, folded at the bottom of my coat closet. I don't really look at it most days, but it comforts me to know it is there. It's a snapshot of the Before of the After.

The conversations today have been just as secret. Nobody really wants to bring it up. I did not go to the cafeteria today. I think I will just continue to lay low. I keep checking in at ThreeWay Action. The community feeling there is just what I was looking for two years ago, and it is still sustaining me today.

Night time

I went up to the service at the Cathedral. Very solemn, very non-denominational. The focus was on the musicians: organ, piano, cello, flute, medieval harp, and three singers. I enjoyed the moody cello meditations and the duets with the harp and the flute and the Enya-type Celtic warbling, but the singing was the kind I hate the most. There was a medley of Angels Watchin' Over Me and Amazing Grace that were so vibrato-ridden and drawn out I kept losing my place just listening. These are wonderfully rhythmic songs that were stretched and beaten and abused until they were unrecognizable. The good part about that, actually, was that my grumpiness about the music kept me from feeling overwhelmed emotionally.

I saved that part for the prayers. The clergy were all off to one side, taking turns reading prayers for different aspects of society. I can't even remember all of them, but the sounds of the familiar voices and cadences were very soothing. There were readings, too, and some traditional hymns for us to all join in on. The general theme was kind of "City of God" and "New Jerusalem." It seemed very appropriate to focus on the future and rebuiliding at this point. There was plenty of acknowledgment of loss, but grief was not the sole focus.

I had a very good cry.

There were not really many people there who were Cathedral regulars. I had imagined that I would run into someone I knew and probably go out to dinner, but there wasn't really anybody doing that. I decided to walk home down Amsterdam Avenue and enjoy the warm night, and feel the city around me. There were knots of people outside some other churches, as well as gatherings around bars and restaurants.

At the Happy Warrior playground, there was group of men in a pick-up Mariachi band. Their music soared and blended the way I had wished Amazing Grace had. It was so lovely to hear their spontaneous music on the warm night air. This is the best of New York. On the one hand, we have the resources for experimental performances like the ones at the Cathedral tonight. On the other, the amateur musicians gather in a public playground where anybody can hear them practice. So many opportunities for community.

I know the city turned on the Towers of Light tonight, but I could not see them from uptown. Just the same, my walk made me feel reinvigorated about the strength of memory and renewal right here in the city. #