Saturday, September 10, 2011


This entire week was like one long drizzly, cold, windy, gray, never-ending day. I didn't end up taking any pictures of myself this week because I looked and felt terrible. I can however give a quick recap of the week.

Monday was rainy so I donned my black and white polka dot boots, a black and white polka dot scarf, and a black rain slicker. Oh, and my purple and white polka dot umbrella. Notice a theme here?

Tuesday was kind of a blur... I remember starting to feel sick and didn't go to work. I instead had a cup of Mexican tortilla soup, goldfish crackers, hot apple cider, and Zicam for dinner. I watched 30 Rock and fell asleep after a shot of Nyquil.

Wednesday I donned my I (heart) London sweatshirt, black and white polka dot boots, a black North Face fleece, and a pair of organic rainbow tie-dye socks for good luck. I had my first art history test!

I am not ashamed to say that I wore the same outfit Thursday.

Friday it started to warm up so I wore a long-sleeved blue chambray button-down, black tights, a gold metal circle necklace, and my black Ralph Lauren boots. I also ran around like a chicken with my head cut off trying to right a thesis proposal wrong gone awry. Basically, I wanted to work with a supervisor from the Humanities department (recommended to me by Dr. Henke). But since I am an English major I must work with an English professor or forfeit my university honors. 

Needless to say, I still haven't gotten a hold of the guy I need to speak with.

As I'm sure all of you know, tomorrow is the 10 year anniversary of 9/11. Anyone who was old enough to experience that day will never forget where they were when they found out about what happened. I was living in Springfield, Missouri and sitting in my 6th grade social studies class with Mrs. Foley when the assistant principal, Mr. McLain, came in to speak with me. I had always been a diligent student and always feared getting in trouble. My mind raced. What could I have done to have to talk to Mr. McLain? 

He took me into the teacher's offices and there was a black phone sitting down on the desk with another person on the line. He told me my mother had something important she needed to talk to me about and I was worried she was going to tell me my dad had died. When I got on the line, she told me a bunch of things I didn't understand. Terrorists. World Trade Center. Planes being hijacked. What does hijack mean? I had no basis of comparison because something like this had never happened before. 

Mom told me she wanted to call because she knew I would be hearing things but she wanted me to know that Dad was safe. She later told me at the time she had no idea whether or not he was okay because she couldn't get a hold of him. His flight to Washington had been grounded.

I went back into the classroom and Mrs. Foley asked me if everything was okay. I think we had been learning about India and how they believed cows were sacred. Someone said "Holy cow!" and she responded, "Literally!" We heard about caste systems for the first time. When I told her everything I had heard from my mom, it came out in jagged fragments and didn't make a whole lot of sense. Mrs. Foley had a concerned look on her face and a furrowed brow, "What?" A minute or so later, the intercom announced for the classrooms to turn on the TVs that each room had posted in the right corner. The "kid's" news showed the images we all have forever ingrained in our minds. Towers on fire, planes crashing into metal edifices full of people, people covered in ash, running down the streets. 

My mom worked at The Limited Too and I remember she brought me home a couple of things from work. I remember her talking on the phone and I just went outside and sat on the steps of our deck and let the emotion of the day work its way over me. I started crying thinking about all the families who lost loved ones and how lucky I was that my dad was alive, planes being his career and all.

Four days later I had my twelfth birthday at the Pizza Inn with my friends. It was a bittersweet day for me. Since the planes had been grounded, my dad ended up taking every kind of transportation under the sun trying to make it home for me. I think he ended up falling asleep on a bus at one point but he finally made it home just in time. I let my balloons go after the party was over in my own little way as an offering to all the people affected permanently by that dark day.

It's not usually like me to get all patriotic but hearing stories about 9/11 always touch me. I see pictures and videos of people who were alive with their families and full of life and promise just ten years ago and now they're gone. Their families have had to grow and move on without them. I can only imagine how hard that would be and I know it could have just as easily been my dad. 

In memory of those who lost their lives ten years ago. May they rest in peace. May your prayers and thoughts continue to go out to their families.

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