Not Remembering 9-11

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The 10th Year Anniversary

I don’t want to relive it. I don’t want to see any of it. I’m planning to be away from the city. I’m so glad 9-11 is on a Sunday so I can get the family out of what I expect will be a relentless media frenzy. I don’t want to have a TV on. I want to walk in the woods.

The wound is still very fresh. Some time I may write about it. I may write about the beautiful morning, how I had voted that morning, saw a police officer’s face — her face as if in close up — her worried face as she listened to a report. She was in a squad car, I was crossing Broadway with the kids. I forgot it. Then walking towards Central Park with my friend, J., how I got an urgent messages my sister on my cell phone but I had to call from a pay phone because my cell suddenly didn’t work, how we walked a little ways in Central Park then saw all the business people entering Central Park from 59th Street, how we knew something was deeply wrong, all these people in business attire walking into the park, how I grabbed my daughters from daycare, how I found my son’s pre-K class at the public school – with the principal standing with everyone in the hallway holding hands and praying with the kids — telling them that we love our families, our schools, our country. How we began to walk home, saw a grey cloud in the sky, south. Too close to be the WTC, we figured it was the Empire State Building. As we walked I insisted we avoid Lincoln Center, it could be a target. How we began to see all these people on the promenade in Riverside Park walking from downtown covered in dust, business suits and hair covered in grey, all grey. How we smelled the burning in the middle of the night. How we left the city and still past Albany, I could hear sirens. Chris said there were no sirens. I heard sirens on and off the whole way up to the Adirondacks.

Someday I will write about this. But not now. I dread the 10-year commemoration of 9-11. This year, I refuse to be traumatized again with news replaying images I don’t want to see.

Other years, on the anniversary of 9-11, the city was somber, especially the first couple of years. There was quiet. Especially in the morning. One year, I was walking down my block. A construction worker was sitting on the brownstone steps. It was the time of quiet and of remembrance. Our eyes locked. We looked at each other and we shared some sadness. He nodded at me. He knew. He knew and I knew. We didn’t want to – we didn’t need to – relive the whole thing. We didn’t need to write about it. Talk about it.

This year I might be in the Adirondacks far from a TV. I might go to church or maybe I’ll go to the church of walking in the woods. The Adirondack mountains will look lovely then. A long walk will do me good – seeing the colors of the pine trees, the splotched orange, the red leaves afire. 

I know the day is months away. Here I am the first weekend of April. I don’t want to wish away my spring, summer, fall dreading that September weekend. But it calms me to know I don’t have to be in the city.

At the time I knew that time would heal me from the trauma. I take comfort in the passage of time. I don’t take comfort in anniversaries. Continue reading “Not Remembering 9-11” →

The Sweetest Corner in the City

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On one corner there is Magnolia Bakery. Aross the street one way is BookMarc, a Mark Jacobs bookstore.
Kittycorner is Marc Jacobs store. Always with the trendy windows.
And just because this is my blog and I can post whatever I want. Last weekend in Washington DC, my sister and I went out to breakfast and I ate this waffle. The strawberry was cut like a rose. Yummy.

Mother-Daughter Book Club

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We had our first mother-daughter book club a week or so ago. Four mothers and six daughters sat on the floor and the comfy chairs around a coffee table that held wine glasses, juice boxes, and snacks on paper plates.

I love talking about what I’m reading. I love “comparing and contrasting,” a favorite assignment from my middle school English teachers. I love reading and discussing books so much that I even got my Master’s in literature. I missed it.

When my girls were toddlers, I jumped at the chance to start a book club with fellow mothers of preschoolers. Now our kids are middle schoolers. We’ve been meeting monthly for about eight years. We go on a long weekends together once a year. (Last year we went to Napa Valley and the year before to South Beach. For the trip we read a book set in or about that place.)

For our first mother-daughter book club meeting in March we all read Betty Smith’s A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. For our next book we were choosing among these books:

Deenie by Judie Blume

The Egypt Game by Zilpha Keatley Snyder

The Westing Game by Ellen Raskin

The Color Purple by Alice Walker

The Secret Order of the Gumm Street Girls by Elise Primavera

Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame

The Witch of Blackbird Pond by Elizabeth George Speare

And the last book won! I can’t wait to read it and discuss it. I can’t wait to be a mother who talks to her kids about important things, like literature.

10 Good Things

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On most nights I tuck my darling daughters into their beds and I whisper 10 good things about each of them. I don’t know where I came up with this random number.

I have a thing for setting random-numbered goals for myself. I always swim 8 laps in any size pool. I clean for 10 minutes. I run for 13 minutes without stopping.

My children’s recent brattiness has laid me low. Why are they mean to me? ME? I am the nicest person/mother/friend in the world! [See my post from a few days ago: http://gettingmyessayspublished.wordpress.com/2011/03/21/when-kids-are-mean-to-mom/ ]

In any case, to overcome this mean-to-mom moment, let me say 10 good things about myself. This is difficult. I feel confident pointing out my failings, but not my strengths. Here goes:

1. I am funny. 2. I am friendly. 3. I am a good writer. 4. I like to work out. 5. I am creative. 6. I listen well. 7. I am tech-savvy. 8.

I have to stop here and admit I am running out of good things to say. I am bored. I am staring out my window at work and looking at Riverside Church blanketed with snow. It’s almost 9 am and I should get to work. Okay, moving on:

8. I am a hard worker. 9. I love my job. 10. I like staring out the window.

That’s it for me. What are 10 good things about you?

Downcast

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This is me. I saw the snow this morning. I was downcast.
I tried to remember that it is Spring.
It was only Sunday. I had seen crocuses in Riverside Park.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On Sunday the crocuses were wildly happy to be alive. Today they are downcast.

Foot Pain

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I had major foot pain — on my heel and now on my big toe knuckle.

It hurt so badly that I woke in the night wincing. So a few mornings ago, I went to the podiatrist. Dr. Rottenberg thinks it might be a running injury or the early stages of arthritis. It is also, as I self-diagnosed, plantar fisciitis. She gave me steroid pads and anti-inflammatory pills to take nightly. I’ll go back in a week.

Dr. Rottenberg advised me to stop running or I will have to have surgery within the next two years. So after my huge HUGE success of running a 5K. Yes, a 5K without stopping. I’m being a little sarcastic, but also, yes, I’m proud of myself — I came in 150th in my age group (out of 180). I think I have to find a new sport. I need to do something for cardio.

I ride my bike almost every day in nice weather, but the bike has really failed me. One of the pedal’s fell off and the bike’s just given up on life. (See last year’s post on how my bike fell in love: http://runningaground.wordpress.com/2010/07/15/damn-you-gary-fisher/) I’ll probably get a new bike. That’ll be good.

Swimming might be good. I love the smell of chlorine. (I know, I know, it’s not good.) And I LOVE taking a steam bath after swimming. The steam room’s a great place to pray and think and simply be.

A couple of days a week, there’s also my workplace Pilates and Yoga classes. I love these. But they’re so woven into the fabric of my life that they don’t feel like I’m doing much. But as my gorgeous podiatrist Dr. Rottenberg said, “They’re the best.” Yet they’re not cardio. In college I loved Afro-Caribbean dance. Maybe I’ll go back to that. I love tennis, but that’s probably hard on the feet too.

Oh, one more thing, the doctor advised me to stay off high heels. Easy for her to say. (She got to wear them!) I like a little height. I like a little run. I like feeling healthy and fit.

When Kids Are Mean to Mom

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My preteens have mood swings that take them from an attitude of a toddler to an adult in a flash. Take tonite. 

C. storms into our small NYC kitchen where her father and I are already tripping over each other fixing dinner.

“I’m starving.”

“Good, I’m making arroz con pollo, your fave.”

“I hate it. I am starving. I haven’t eaten anything.”

“Have a strawberry. Have yogurt. Dinner’ll be ready in half an hour.”

“I hate it. I’m starving.”

“Hey,” I said. “I don’t like anyone being mean to anyone else. Including you to me. I told you we’re fixing dinner.” I could feel my patience beginning to snap. I walked away. I didn’t want to yell. I took some deep breaths. She stormed ahead of me, into her bedroom and began to slam the door. I caught the door before it slammed and closed it gently.

Then, okay, yes, I gave the middle finger to the closed bedroom door. (I know, I know, I’m immature too!)

I grabbed my phone. I tweeted my friends, “I’m the nicest person in the world. Why is my daughter mean to me?” I got nice feedback. Like @katejenian “@MaryBethC You are there for your children to be mean to, as you will forgive them, and they know it. They also get over it (I did). :)” and @MegP4 said, “@MaryBethC Oh, can I soooo relate to this. Sorry.” And nycdavidwebb said, “you are indeed a nice person.”

I felt better. Venting to cyber friends cooled off my hot, mad attitude towards my little ingrate.

I heard C. singing in the kitchen. I peeked around. I watched her climb on a chair and nuke herself some old tacos smothered in cheese and black beans. She was making herself some nachos. She was singing, silly, happy. I couldn’t stay mad.

I let it go.

This preteen age is tricky. They have mood swings. They want what they want. And they yell and disrespect people, even me, their mother! Yet they still need me, want me, and cuddle me. It is an age of letting the door slam gently (and then, giving the closed door the finger!) 

I can’t remember, but it’s highly probable I had mood swings too.

Light at the End of the Tunnel

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I am standing waiting for the subway.
As if by magic, the subway light appears, filling the tunnel. Every morning.

Daily Blog

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For about 66 days I posted on one of my four blogs every single day. I started January 1, 2011.

I may keep up the daily habit or begin to post weekly.

Here’s how I did it:

1) Connected with a community of writers (Twitter, Facebook, 43Things, MediaBistro) 2) Gave myself permission to write only 100 words 3) Wrote early in the morning, late at night (and occasionally on my lunch hour) 4) Told myself ‘It will only take you 20 minutes’ 5) Showed my vulnerabilty 6) Showed my awesomeness.

For extra credit: 

1) Included photos 2) Told a story with a beginning, middle and end 3) Promoted books and philosophies I believe in 4) Piggybacked on other bloggers’ good ideas 5) Commented on others’ blog posts.

What I learned:

1) That writing improves your self esteem 2) That there is always something to write about 3) That I began to organize my life and thoughts around the four different blog areas — fitness, writing, spirituality and New York 4) That how-to posts and completely honest posts were the most popular 5) That my writing, especially the first couple of paragraphs, have to be simple and not witty (Humor comes later. Explaining the point of what I’m writing comes first.)

For Japan

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So sad — the devastation today after the huge earthquake and tsunami. And so I offer just a little glimpse of hope.

I took these photos with my phone in April 2010 in and around Central Park.

I know the people of Japan love cherry blossoms. Cherry blossoms remind us of how fleeting life and beauty are.

These pictures are my prayers and thoughts for the people of Japan.

Beauty and spring will soon come. For you. For me. For Japan.

Cherry blossoms are inevitable. So is hope in the face of destruction.