When Time Stands Still

Everything is moving so fast right now. My days are jam packed from the moment I wake up till the moment I fall, exhausted, into bed. I wish I could turn my phone, my e-mail and my calendar – OFF!

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about that old question “When you’re lying on your death bed, will you be glad you spent all that time ________ (fill in the blank “at work”, “answering e-mail”, etc.) It’s an easy “no” of course, and so I am trying to make better decisions about how I spend my time.

Time spent with Sam and Katherine, time with friends, time spent encouraging and helping others, time spent reading and writing (no arithmetic, thank you), time spent sleeping and snuggling – that’s all the good stuff.

The bad stuff? It’s not even worth listing, but it’s the stuff that fills most my day. I have the best intentions. I’ll slow down, breathe deeply, savor the moment. But then my e-mail inbox count climbs steadily and I can see I have 12 voicemails waiting to be picked up, and my favorite customer calls and needs a favor, quick, or more likely, my least favorite customer calls and insists I drop everything, quick. And before I know it, I’m caught up in a whirlwind of multi-tasking and moving at the speed of light and everything around me becomes a blur.

It’s during those times that I’m most likely to miss the little or big things that people around me do to help make my life easier. Or if I do notice, I don’t take time to allow the full impact of their care and kindness to sink in.

Two completely unexpected things happened this week that nearly brought me to me knees in gratitude in the midst of my rushing about. And I want to share it here, not only to say thank you, but also so that I can savor the full impact of their kindness by writing about it.

First – I taught a workshop yesterday and arrived at work from an out of town trip only a few hours before the workshop was to begin. I was frantically gathering all handouts and notes and props I needed when Tanya showed up to offer me three wildly colored markers. She remembered that I had used them and had had fun with them in a previous workshop and had taken it upon herself to remind me that I might want to use them again this time. In addition, she wasn’t sure if I had the poster size financial statements I teach from, so she took it upon herself to order an extra set for me – JUST IN CASE.

Then, today, Linda, my trusted assistant who makes ALL things possible and keeps me on the straight and narrow, snuck into my office while I was in a meeting and totally cleaned and organized my desk. I returned to find that the explosion of paper and files that had littered my workspace had been neatly arranged into ordered and prioritized stacks. Just seeing those neat little piles added an extra year to my life.

I was so touched by these acts generosity.
Thank you Linda. Thank you Tanya.
In that moment, your kindness made time stand still.

Piss & Vinegar (or Giving a Black Mood its Due)

I reached way down low and pulled myself up out of the funk I was in on Sunday. Whew. I am feeling much better now, thank you.

I came perilously close to “snapping out of it” prematurely on Sunday morning. The three of us were sitting at the table eating a late breakfast when Sam turned his laptop around so Katherine could read my post.

As she began, Sam, being ornery, leaned down so he was staring at her over the top of the computer. He fixed his eyes on her and began to hum a tune.

“Dad, please be quiet!” she scolded.

Sam changed tactics and began whistling. Katherine looked up in exasperation.

“Dad! This is a deep, dark, depressing post. I would appreciate it if you would neither hum nor whistle. Now please be QUIET!”

(Now that’s my girl! Giving a black mood its due!) Sam went silent but continued to stare.

Katherine finished, looked at me and said “That’s good”, then without missing a beat looked at Sam and zinged him with “and what IS your PROBLEM?”

Maybe you had to be there, but she said it with such piss and vinegar that I nearly fell off my chair from laughing so hard. It was all I could do to regain my “black mood” composure.

That girl – she’s a pistol alright. Woe to anyone who gets in her way. And that makes me mighty proud!

Sometimes I get this way.

Hiroshima.
Dresden.
World Trade Center Towers.
Everything melting.

Child soldiers. Stolen from their families.
Forced to murder their parents so they have nothing to return to.

I’ve never understood why people watch horror films.
Watch the news. Read the papers. The horror of real life is enough.

I listened to the Blue Angels practicing over downtown.
I heard the sounds of war.

The phone rang and rang and rang, and I could not pick up.
Too much that could not be spoken. The silence was more true.
Let’s not fill what little time we have left with lies.

Yes. No.

Little girls playing princess. Am I pretty? Yes - you are.
Little boys sneak down stairs, carrying guns.
Pow! Pow! Pow! Ha! Ha! You’re dead.

Breathe in… Breathe out…

Your right shoulder, my left shoulder.
We’ll lie side by side, bare skin touching.
Our shoulders will heal. Or they won’t.
Either way, we’ll be together.

Don’t go away.

Revelations

Katherine and I saw the Alvin Ailey Dance Company perform Revelations last week. I've seen it a half dozen times and can't imagine ever growing tired of it. It was expecially wonderful to take Katherine to see it for her first time. It's nourishment for the spirit.

Remembering...

I couldn’t help noticing how vivid and blue the sky was as I drove down Ward Parkway this morning. “Just like it was in New York 5 years ago,” I thought. Five years ago. Such a long time, and yet in so many ways it feels like just yesterday.

That morning, 5 years ago, was ordinary in every way. I drove Katherine’s car pool and dropped the girls off at their school just before 8am. I normally listened to NPR in the car, but that morning, for some reason I did not. I arrived at work and was checking e-mail before our 8:30 loan committee meeting when a message from Julie Ladage flashed across my screen. “There is a report that an airplane has flown into the World Trade Center.” I immediately thought of a small 2-4 passenger plane bouncing off the side of the tower and crashing at its feet. It was news for sure, and tragic, but I wondered why Julie had bothered to send the message.

A few moments later I turned around to see most of the loan committee huddled around the TV set in the board room. Knowing they must be following the report of the ill-fated plane, I went to see what had happened.

The room was deathly silent as I walked in, and the look on their faces told me in an instant what the television did not. Something very terrible, something much worse than what I had first imagined, had happened.

I sat with my co-workers, our eyes riveted to the television screen. After many minutes, we turned it off and tried to hold our meeting. We were distracted, antsy. Someone rushed in and told us that one of the towers had just collapsed. I still remember how Grant flew for the television set to turn it on. I’ve replayed that scene in my mind so many times. The look on his face – the disbelief, the incredulousness.

Reports that numerous attacks were taking place across the country began to filter in. I believed them and realized that my life was changing, had already changed, forever. I had no idea what to expect, but my brain switched into automatic and I began planning for the worst.

I called my Mom and we made a plan for our families to meet at our house at the lake. It was remote, away from any military targets. “We can fish there if we need to,” I remember Mom saying. I asked my Mom to go pick up my Grandma and I called my closest friends and urged them to make similar plans to escape with their families in the event things got much worse.

I called Sam and we called Katherine’s school to find out what was happening there.
“The students are watching the news on tv,” we were told, “Their teachers are with them.”
“Do you have a bomb shelter?” I asked. “We do,” the woman answered.

I called my brother’s wife Krista and learned Kelly was in Canada. I told Krista about the plan to meet at the lake if things got worse. I told her to bring her parents. I wondered how many people we should invite to the lake house.

I called the body shop where my car was being worked on and told them I was coming to pick it up. I didn’t care if the work was complete. My car was the most reliable of our vehicles and I wanted reliable transportation in case we had to flee the city. Sam and I both filled our cars with gas.

Next I drove to the grocery store and bought 20 jugs of water, 100 power bars and a dozen cans of beans. I remember the clerk giving me a strange look as she rang up my order. Surely she knew what I was doing, but we didn’t discuss it.

By the time I was finished it was nearly 11am and I decided to go back to the bank. I was too afraid to listen to the news in the car by myself, afraid of what I might hear. As I pulled into the parking garage, I felt something give way inside my chest and I put my head on the steering and for the first time began to cry. I remember thinking that as bad as what was happening was, it was only the beginning. I remember thinking that things could only get worse, much worse, before they got better. I remember trying to imagine what would come in the ensuing weeks and months. I hoped I was strong enough and smart enough to endure it.

I went back into the bank, took out a bunch of cash from our account and then sat at my desk. I took off my glasses and decided to never hide behind them again. I put them in my top desk drawer. They’ve been there ever since.

I stared at my computer screen and waited, combing the internet for news. Sam closed his office and sent everyone home. Scotti called from Australia. I was so relieved to hear her voice.

That night, Sam, Katherine and I sat in the living room and watched President Bush as he addressed the nation. I remember taking some comfort in his remarks, something I never felt again after that night.

We’d hung a new painting over our fireplace mantle the night before, a painting Sam and I bought each other as an anniversary gift. I’d admired that painting of two wolves with mysterious eyes for years. But as I looked up at it after the events of the morning, I saw scary eyes, evil eyes. I wanted to take it down, or at least cover it up, but Sam encouraged me to wait, to see how I felt the next day. (It took me over a year to love that painting again)

September 11th turned into September 12th and 13th and that Friday we had a party out on our deck. I asked every one to bring a candle and we lit them and someone said a prayer. We were all grieving, but if felt so good to have that many people together on my deck. If I could have convinced them to spend the night, I would have. The next week we had a Chiefs party. More than half the people who came didn’t even care about the game. We were all just hungry for companionship, and to get away from the news and from our own thoughts for a few moments.

A lot happened over the next 6 months. Joel Book moved in with us. We began the war in Afghanistan. There was the anthrax scare. “Let’s Roll” became our battle cry.

I spent many, many nights sitting at the kitchen table talking with Sam, trying to make sense of it all. I read everything I could about the people who died that day. I cried nearly every night. I imagined myself trapped in flames. I imagined myself jumping from a window. I imagined myself determining to overtake hijackers. I imagined my death. I felt split open and shattered into a million pieces. I felt more alive than I’d ever felt before.

Six months later, on the 6 month anniversary of the attacks, I flew to New York City to spend 2 nights and 3 days volunteering at St. Paul’s Chapel, which stood at the foot of the World Trade Centers and served as a place of respite for the thousands of people who were working to clean up the rubble.

It was a healing experience for me. It was a turning point. This next post is what I wrote about it.

Six Months After 9/11

Many of you know I spent several days last week (March 8-11) volunteering at St. Paul’s Chapel near Ground Zero. Thanks to each of you who called or e-mailed before I left or since I’ve been home. I thought it would be easiest to share my experience with you in this way.

I became inspired to go to New York to volunteer at Ground Zero after reading the web journal of another woman who had volunteered for several months at St. Paul’s. (www.hopeinthewilderness.com) After many phone calls and e-mails – I was accepted on the volunteer list. There is no shortage of volunteers – I called at the beginning of February and the first open shifts were the nights of March 8th & 9th.

St. Paul’s Chapel has been around since 1736, and is a NYC historical landmark. George Washington prayed his inaugural prayer there in 1789. Miraculously, the chapel sustained no damage on September 11th and has since become a respite center for fireman, police, EMS, construction and other relief workers. It's been in operation twenty-four hours a day since September 11th serving hot meals and providing a place to rest your head, spend quiet time, or connect with one of the many volunteers and counselors on hand.

I was anxious about flying into New York and about going to Ground Zero. Like many, I’ve had a difficult time dealing with the horror and sadness of September 11th and wasn't sure how I would feel about being there. On the other hand, I’ve had so many positive experiences as the result of that terrible day. Now I look at things differently. I thank God for my many blessings. My eyes are wider. My vision feels clearer.

I went to pay tribute to the city of New York, to the 2,700+ victims of the attack and to the hundreds of workers who have participated in the clean up of the site. I was also hoping to find some closure with regard to my own emotional experience of September 11th.

I arrived at Ground Zero Friday evening to begin the first of two 12-hour night shifts at St. Paul’s. The Ground Zero pit was intensely lit with stadium lighting. After 6 months of clean up, it looked only like a huge construction site. I did see the cross formed by the steel girders. It was lit from below and stood at one side of the site. The buildings all around the pit were badly damaged. One in particular looked as if its skin had simply melted off and slid down the side of the building.

St. Paul’s is directly adjacent to the pit. The iron fence in front of the chapel was covered with memorials. Photos, letters, condolences, and expressions of regret covered every square foot of the 8 ft. high fence. It was absolutely impossible to absorb all that was in front of you. My initial impression was of deep sadness that so many of the memorials were faded. I wanted them to be just as bright and vivid as the lives they memorialized.

Inside the chapel I felt an immediate sense of calm. It was dimly lit and peaceful. Cards and banners from school children around the country and the world covered the walls. I saw cards from children in Prairie Village and a large banner from Xavier School in Leavenworth. Tables were set up around the perimeter of the chapel providing clothing, gear, medical supplies, toiletries, candy & snacks. Hot meals, coffee, tea, bottled water and sodas were always available. Cots and mattresses were laid out upstairs in the balcony so that workers could nap during their breaks. Volunteer chiropractors, podiatrists and massage therapists were there to provide healing and relief. Volunteers (20 per 12 hour shift) sort and stock the supply tables, prepare and serve the food and provide a supportive ear to the workers who come there.

During our orientation, Dennis, our volunteer coordinator, told us that our mission was to provide comfort and respite to the workers. I quickly saw that the greatest need was to simply sit, talk and listen with the workers as they came in during their breaks. I sometimes felt awkward approaching them, but in every instance, found someone who was anxious to talk – and seemed to welcome an attentive listener.

Through my conversation I learned of many losses. Close family, friends, and associates were lost that day. Others lost their homes and their belongings. Many talked of dealing with nightmares or of still feeling afraid at the sound of an airplane overhead. Most said they still startled easily.

It is an honor for these firemen, police, and construction workers to participate in the recovery. Their workday lasts fourteen to sixteen hours, but to them, it's nothing. Nothing compared to the lives lost. Doing this is a catharsis for their pain.

In those few days, I saw many with hollowness in their eyes. Many of the workers have been at Ground Zero nearly every day since Sept 11th. They said it seemed like years rather than months they'd been working there. What affect will this have on them emotionally or physically? It did not seem to matter. The job has to be done. And they want to be the ones to do it.

This disaster produced millions of tons of debris. In the early days after the incident, many wondered how it would be cleared? One of the firemen said the debris had towered as high as eighty feet in the air and now six months later there laid a hole eighty feet deep.

Over 2700 are missing or dead. The recovery of these victims is painstakingly slow. The construction equipment scoops up the debris and places it gently at the feet of waiting firemen and EMS workers who sift through it searching for anything recognizable. The pile is loaded on a truck and barged across the harbor to be sifted again at the local landfill. This process is tedious, but highly efficient. Its purpose is simple. Find anything that can be identified for those loved ones who are waiting for answers. Body parts are still being found. Just this week, several whole bodies were recovered. It is gruesome work, but the identification of a body can provide much needed closure to the mourning families.

As morning came, everyone’s spirits seemed to lift a little. Even though my shift ended at 8 am – I stayed much later on both days. I didn’t want to leave. The morning sunlight – and the fresh shift of workers and volunteers left me feeling happy and hopeful. I can’t really say enough about the way that morning sunlight felt as it streamed through the stained glass of the chapel. It gave the whole place a magical feeling. When we finally left, there were hugs all around and I felt very sad that I would likely never see any of these amazing people again.

In hindsight – I must say that even though I went to New York prepared to do whatever was necessary to support the workers; it felt as though the workers were still there to support us! They greeted us with smiles, hugs and words of wisdom. It was a great honor to meet the men and women who are representing the true spirit of our country!

On Monday, March 11th, I returned home. Monday was the 6-month anniversary. I decided not to go to any of the ceremonies that morning, and my flight left before the beams of light commemorating the towers were lit. Still, I am glad I was in New York on that day.

Since I've been home, I've felt again much of the pain and sadness I experienced after September 11th. I'm quick to tears when someone asks me about my experience. I guess this is just the result of seeing first hand the enormity of what happened. This time however, my sadness is mixed with a sense of awe and respect for the incredible people I met and for the underlying goodness and resiliency of the human spirit.

I experienced the full-scale aspect of this catastrophe in a very small way. My involvement in this event is tiny. Yet it is the small acts of each individual that add up. This microcosm of volunteers and workers along with each individual’s act of kindness proves that Good is greater than Evil.

Just today I learned that St. Paul’s 24-hour relief effort will end after Easter. I feel so honored to have had this opportunity. I saw a quote while I was at St. Paul’s that I think does justice to my experience.

“History laid its arms around me and in response God has graced me with an opportunity to serve.”

A Knot on my Noggin

Today was a hard day. It started hard and it’s ending hard – and there were lots of hard parts in between. I spent my day juggling relationships with difficult people, trying not to react to ridiculous over the top e-mail, searching for the right words to soothe the frayed nerves of one coworker, and attempting to tame the ego of another. By the time I made it home I was exhausted, and more than a little cranky.

Sam, Katherine and I sat in the den and shared stories of our day. My stories, as it turned out, were really pretty funny. Thank God my travails could be served up for a good laugh

And then I got carried away. In an effort to ramp up dramatic effect and thereby improve the funny quotient of my story, I began banging my forehead against our wooden drafting table to demonstrate my frustration. It smarted a bit at the time, but not nearly as bad as it smarts now. I now have a self inflicted lump on my forehead and a pounding headache to go with it.

What in the world could I have been thinking? Or was I?

Happy Anniversary

Today is the day Sam and I celebrate our 6th wedding anniversary. Although I know I had a life before I met Sam, it is becoming harder and harder to remember what it was like. It seems I’ve always lived this way.

I am ridiculously happy with this man. I feel guilty sometimes for being so happy with Sam. Does one person deserve this bounty of happiness, this depth of connection, this certainty of love? I don’t know. But I’ll drink from the fire hose for as long as it's flowing.

Sam and I have yet to run out of things to talk about. He continues to charm and disarm me with his silly songs and rhymes. I still feel giddy when I see his name flash on my cell phone, or catch sight of his car ahead of me on the traffic way on the way home from work at the end of the day.

There is no one on the face of this earth with whom I would rather spend time, wake up to or fall asleep with. Sam is wisest person I know, and on top of that, he has the kindest, gentlest spirit I know. It’s a captivating combination.

I am crazy in love with this guy. Who wouldn’t be? I consider myself pretty darn lucky to have been in the right place at the right time that fateful day in October 1998 when we first spent time together.

So here’s to you sweetie! Thank you for this wonderful life we are making together.

Happy Anniversary!
I love you.