Maybe I'm in denial. Maybe I don't have the stomach for it.
Or maybe it's because Mark is on a plane as I type this.
Whatever the reason, I have all but avoided the hubbub surrounding the 10th anniversary of 9/11.
The other day, for the first time in weeks, I caught the national evening news, and I was overwhelmed by its focus on what had been and what looked almost certain to be once again. At one point in the newscast, a former national-security expert was warning people to be on the lookout for strangers on the roofs of malls.
Strangers on the roofs of malls.
There is a definite downside to never hitting the "off" button. For the news business, it means that everything--from conjecture to fluff to outright lies--becomes news, sometimes for no better reason than the fear that some other journalist might tell the story first.
Even this morning, the anniversary of that most awful day, I have tuned out my faithful Sunday companion, NPR, which is focusing exclusively on today's events and remembrances.
Outside, the birds and squirrels do battle over the handful of seeds in the feeder, oblivious to the day's significance. I can hear the honking of a lone goose, as it skirts the neighborhood trees in search of its friends. Upstairs, Allison draws a bath.
For some reason, these are the sounds I crave today, absent of commentary or clips or conjecture. These will be my companions through an anniversary I can't quite muster the courage for.
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