Ordinary Day

Just an ordinary day–

A day of class, and work, and life.

A clear blue morning in crisp fall, shattered by airplanes piercing the sky.

Rocking babies, listening to the news.



That evening I sat at home, eating ice cream out of the carton, listening to the anchormen who knew no more than I did.

The skies were quiet, and the children at work built towers from blocks and flew their plastic planes into them.

Every house displayed a flag, every church had its doors opened.

The blood banks were filled with people wanting to do something.

Images seared into our minds– towers burning, planes bent and destroyed, candles shining.

Our leaders stood in Washington for all to see and sang “God bless America.”

We prayed, and we held hands, and we were silent.

We became one in our fear, in our courage, in our love of this country.

They would not see us tremble.

They would look at us, and see our unity, and our resolve, and they would tremble.


Today another ordinary day–

A day of home, and work, and life.

Today I dropped my own baby off in the same room where eight years ago I sat, rocking and listening and fearing.

In the mundane routine of another Friday, I remember.

In the simple tasks of feeding my children, of ironing and washing and folding, I remember.

In the driving, I remember the long lines at the gas pump that day.

In the hearing, I remember the silent sky.

In the hoopla of a big football weekend, I remember the night when the churches opened their doors and people lit candles and mourned.

I fly my flag, and I wear my team colors, and I read my blogs and change diapers and make coffee.

And I never, ever forget.


9 thoughts on “Ordinary Day

  1. I remember the long lines at the gas station that day. I remember I was helping Jenny May push her car to the station because it ran out of gas, and we had to push it in this line that wrapped down the street, and the gas stations had jacked the prices way up.

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