9/11

I had always hoped that my children would never have to have a day that history made them remember exactly where they were because of a tragedy. I had heard my grandparents speak of the bombing of Pearl Harbor and where they were. I had heard where my parents were the day that President Kennedy was assassinated. I had marked days in my life; the day Elvis Pressley died, the news of John Lennon's death, and the Challenger explosion.

As with any other day I had gotten up and had gotten ready for work. I took the kids to school and because I still had some time to kill I went to the cemetery where my father in law was buried. It sits on a hill in a wonderfully quiet place. I sat there in some kind of meditation. On the hill across the way I watched a family of deer grazing. When I left there I circled the baseball field at Rock Creek Park. Naaman had been playing ball on that field that season. Everything was still as quiet as it had been on that hillside. The squirrels were doing their morning routines, the birds had their voices raised in their song, and a lone crow sat atop the backstop fence.

Because the time was coming close, I decided I best be on my way to work. As I had for many years, I was listening to Bob and Sheri on the radio. Their conversations that had been filled with happy laughter and joking suddenly turned serious as they announced that an airplane had hit one of the Twin Towers. It was so unbelievable and as they are trying to take this in, another plane appeared to have hit the second. That whole day stood still for us at work. I wanted nothing more than to find JW and hold our kids at home.

When I got home that evening and we had our usual 5 Story dinner, the kids told about their days and where they were. It had happened. History had given my children one of those days that they would always remember where they were and what they were doing. We stayed glued to the television and we held our breath with all of America. What could we do? How could we help? Why?

As the news reports droned on I was rethinking my day, the kids, the deer, the park, the squirrels, the bird's songs, the crow, my job. For some reason that crow stood out in my mind. It meant something. I did not know what and I did not know why I would know this. I had to know what it meant. I started looking and found that there was a meaning behind counting crows. The group The Counting Crows is named for this rhyme. One single crow stands for death. Had that one single crow on the backstop been carrying a warning? Who can say? Four years later I saw a single crow once again. The very next day my grandfather passed away. Call it superstition or hocus pocus. I just know that that single crow on September 11, 2001 will forever stand in my mind as the beginning of a day that changed our world forever.

Let us never forget those whose lives were lost, those who worked to help rescue and recover, and our soldiers who are still fighting for our protection and freedom. Our country, though we were bruised, was not lost. We are truly blessed beyond measure.

September 10, 2010

I guess to some today is as ordinary as any other day. The sun came up. People scurried to go to work or school. The daily mundane things are happening as usual. Somewhere there is a young man and woman in the hospital awaiting the birth of their first child. This is no different than what happened many years ago on this day only that young man and woman did not know the difference they were making in the world.

That little baby would forever change the lives of a family from the same hometown. That little baby would share his daddy's name. He would have his mom's brown eyes and be the oldest grandchild on both sides of his family. That little baby would be full of mischief and would have the most tender heart you could imagine. In a few years he would become a big brother to a little sister and then a little brother that he loves without end. That little baby would become a boy who idealized his daddy, but would always be his momma's boy. He would never be the best of students but did just enough to get by as long as he had a good time and made someone smile. That boy would work hard and someday he would find a girl. He would fall in love, get married, and then create his great works of art. He would find that his talents for building would lead him onto the stage but to always remain in the dark.

That little baby that was born on this day was to become my very best friend. He's the one that can make me the angriest, but he can then turn around and make me lose my breath from laughter. He is the shoulder on which I lay my head and the hand I reach for. That little baby is my 'Superman'. He has been the very best daddy a little girl could ask for and the best buddy to not just any little boy but The Boy. To some he is known as Daddy or JDub or The Favorite Son In Law or Dubby, but to me he is my hero.
Happy 49th birthday, J. I love you as I tell the kids and the pups...immensely and forever. I hope this is only the beginning.

Sisters United

God truly opens windows for us everyday. It's up to us to find those windows. I recently had a request from someone I met through Facebook for a photo shoot of she and her sister whom she had not met. Her sister was put up for adoption at birth. God opened the right windows for these 2 beautiful ladies and their families, but most of all he opened the window for me to be able to capture them in an unbelievable photo shoot. Thanks, Jennifer and Adrienne. I hope this will be the beginning of a wonderful relationship full of laughs and memories.