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Tag: 9/11

“C’mon Everyone We Gotta Get Together Now”

“C’mon Everyone We Gotta Get Together Now”

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“Oh yeah, love’s the only thing that matters anyhow.”

Those lyrics are from the song Sweet Cherry Wine by Tommy James and the Shondells released in 1969.

I have been singing it over and over again lately, and with the help of my “Alexa,” listening as well.

 

I haven’t written anything to post on “Musings” in over three months.  I haven’t felt like it.  I have been in a funk since Christmas.  I don’t know why exactly.  Maybe it’s seasonal depression; maybe it’s the #PutinPriceHike on our gas costs; maybe it’s the massive losses in our retirement accounts at a time when I would like to retire; maybe it’s the Valentine’s Day card I bought for Kim that cost me eight bucks (8 bucks!); maybe it’s the threat of World War III and nuclear war looming over the futures of my grandsons; maybe it’s the weight gain I can’t blame on anybody but myself ushering in a new stage of my old age.

 

In 1969 I remember Sweet Cherry Wine as being a cool song that I liked.  At that point in my life, I wasn’t paying too much attention to lyrics in songs so I didn’t really get the message.

Having grown up on lyrics like “Makes my heart go run-run ditty”  or  “Down dooby doo down down, Comma, comma, down dooby doo down down,” what was the point of listening to lyrics.

Anyway, I just thought it was a song about drinking wine.

We had a lot of division in the country in the 60’s and 70’s.  In fact in Tommy James’ book “Me, the Mob, and the Music” he writes “Before the 1968 election, there was very little left-right, conservative-liberal dichotomy.  That election, that year, was when we lost our national unity and became a red and blue country.  Divided we fall.”

We had Vietnam, we had Watergate, and not long after we had our first oil crisis.

My daughter Hayley reminded me this past week about a photograph I had taken when I was in high school that got published on the front page of a local newspaper called The Advisor on February 3, 1974.  The photo was taken during the oil embargo of 1973 and 1974 and she wanted to use it as part of her lesson for one of her classes.

The oil embargo of 1973 had some similarities in origin to at least a part of our current oil and gas situation (the Putin part) in that during the Arab-Israeli War of 1973 the Arab nations imposed an embargo on the United States in retaliation for providing arms to Israel thus banning petroleum exports to the US and other nations supporting Israel.  Domestic oil production had declined and we had become dependent on importing foreign oil.

We had long lines at the gas stations and prices jumped.  It was common for gas stations to run out of gas.  I happened to have worked part-time at the Shell station in my hometown of Oceanport where the photo was taken and therefore I had a pretty easy time getting gas.  I had taken the photo as part of an assignment for my high school photography class.

“Divided we fall.”

That may be true.  I think September 11, 2001, would tamp that division down a little but it is raging back.

We have climate change, social media, fake news, Build Back Better, Make America Great Again, socialism versus capitalism, and on and on.

Heck, even the Senate’s attempt to cure my seasonal depression is pitting family member against family member.

 

Though often thought to be related to psychedelia and drugs, Sweet Cherry Wine was more a song protesting the Vietnam War and according to Tommy James in an interview in 2010 the song “was about the blood of Jesus.“

 

“…yesterday my friends were marching out to war
…listen, now, we ain’t a-marching anymore”

“No we ain’t gonna fight
Only God has the right
To decide who’s to live and die”

 

I have always said that writing is great therapy.

I guess I should start practicing what I preach.

Maybe practice what I preach in more ways than just writing.

 

“To save us He gave us sweet cherry wine”

 

This is my blood, drink it, in remembrance of Me.

 

Pray for peace.

You Are My Sunshine

You Are My Sunshine

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This has really been an emotional day.

My cousin Debbie has a daughter named Mallory who is very talented and sings for a living.  Earlier this summer Mallory posted a video of her singing with my Aunt Joan, Mallory’s grandmother while visiting with her at her assisted living facility in Florida.

The song they sang was “You Are My Sunshine.”

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
You make me happy when skies are gray
You’ll never know dear, how much I love you
Please don’t take my sunshine away”

It was special.

At the very end of that video, my aunt says something I didn’t hear the first time I watched it.

“Unfortunately He did, He did. Yup.”

Take her sunshine away.

Likely she was referring to the loss of her husband, my Uncle Theodore, in 1982 at the young age of forty-nine.

Kim and I finally got around to sharing that video with my mother just recently.  I have mentioned this before, but my Aunt Joan, my mother, and my father are the last of that generation of my family.

I am with my mother again this weekend and I watched this video again this morning.

It was even more special today I think.

 

This is such an emotional day for all of us on many levels.

If you are of any age to be able to remember the events of 20 years ago, you remember the detail of that day and the days following and how it played out in your own life.

I was walking up the back stairs of our Rockville, Maryland office that morning when Alexa called from her University of Maryland dorm room to say a plane had struck one of the Twin Towers.  While on the phone and discussing the probable unfortunate aviation accident the other tower was hit while Alexa was watching live.

No unfortunate aviation accident.

I remember in the days that followed, watching the TV as the aftermath unfolded with Donny, and how he was all fired up to join the military and go off to fight terrorists at the age of fourteen.

I can remember a time of national time of prayer that occurred in the days following when all houses of worship opened their doors in the middle of a weekday for a time of prayer.  I dipped into a very large mostly African American church in the Landover, Maryland area where I was working that day and prayed with many others in a packed sanctuary as a nation united and grieved together.

I can remember not being able to buy an American flag anywhere in the large territory I covered at the time. The American flags were all sold out.

Now twenty years later I watch the ceremonies, hear the names read, listen to the personal stories, watch the video of the attacks, and I am reminded just how much sunshine was taken away in a literal and spiritual sense

 

This September 11, 2021, will be memorable for me because I got to see my dad for the first time in a couple of weeks.  After a week or so in the hospital with no visitors, my dad was finally admitted to a short-term rehab facility in Easton yesterday.  So today my mother got some clothes together for him and she and I went up to visit.  We were advised that due to Covid, we would only be able to speak to him through the glass, okay we thought, they have a room with a glass partition.  Once we got there however we were unable to even enter the building, handing off my dad’s clothes to a worker, as we received our instructions on how we could find his room and wave at him from outside the window of his room, standing out in the grass.

It was very sad.

It’s not going to be a good memory for me.

 

But I guess this day in these times is just going to be sad any way you turn it around.

 

It’s sad, that only twenty years after this tragic day in history that united our country, we maybe stand to be the most divided in 150 years or so.

We are divided by a virus.

We are divided by masks and vaccines.

In some cases, we are divided by miles, and in other cases just feet.

We are divided from our loved ones by the window we get to wave at them through from outside. Like visiting your human at the zoo.

We are divided by race.

We are divided by politics.

We are divided by the cable news station we choose to watch or not watch.

Divided, by the Godly and the un-Godly.

We have those who display the flag, those that would never, and those who are afraid to.

 

Yet in spite of this division, we all share the reality that in life there will be death, and with death grief.

 

We all have had or will have our sunshine taken away at some points along the journey.

 

Maybe we need another national day of prayer to unite.

Maybe some resolution of this virus to at least allow loved ones to know we are there.

Maybe we need…I don’t know…

God maybe.

 

I do know we have enough sadness.

 

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
You make me happy when skies are gray
You’ll never know dear, how much I love you
Please don’t take my sunshine away

 

He did, and He does, and that is reason enough to believe and to be united.

Because we need each other.

To restore our sunshine when it’s needed.

 

Postscript:

The song You Are My Sunshine according to what I could find on the internet was released in 1939 by songwriter Paul Rice.  Apparently, Rice sold the lyrics to Jimmie Davis and Charles Mitchell for $35 and in 1940, Davis recorded the song and it became an instant country music hit.

Check out Mallory Moyer at https://www.facebook.com/TheMalloryMoyer

The photo above is of the sunshine being taken away on the eve of 9/11/2021.

My sunshine fading away on 9/11/2021
Reminders (Revisited)

Reminders (Revisited)

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“IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL SEPTEMBER MORNING WITH A BLUE SKY…JUST A NORMAL DAY.”

Joy Knepp, Teacher, Shanksville –Stoneycreek School from the display at the Flight 93 Memorial Visitor Center

On an early New England morning in 1775, on the common green in Lexington Massachusetts, a small group of patriots prepared to square off against a large invading British force of about 700 troops. Moments later a shot was fired, and the first battle of the war to establish our nation’s freedom had begun.

Two hundred and twenty-six years later, on “a beautiful September morning with a blue sky…just a normal day” over the green mountains and hills of western Pennsylvania, another small group of brave patriots waged the first battle of a new war to protect those freedoms fought so hard for many years ago.

“…a beautiful September morning with a blue sky…”

Much like today I thought,  as I left the Flight 93 Visitor Center and began the walk down the tree lined path to the impact site below.   Though the morning was cool, the now mid to late afternoon sun caused me to remove my Harley Davidson of Somerset PA sweatshirt and tie it around my waist.  Kim did the same with her Steelers sweatshirt.  The occasional large dark cloud loomed almost symbolically right over the Flight 93 Memorial Visitor Center, so low it looked like you could almost reach up and touch it.  I guess something in the sky had to be there to remind us of the darkness of that day, joining the reminders on the grounds around me.  Though it was a beautiful day, this day, September 11th would never again be just a normal one.

 

Needing to decompress a little, Kim and I decided to make a trip up to see the family on the farm in Markleton, Pennsylvania in Somerset County. It was a weekend of reminders.

By early Saturday morning we were in Western Pennsylvania. I have been to Somerset County many times over the last almost 20 years and thought I was fairly well versed in the farm community life and history.  I got my eyes opened on Saturday by attending the New Centerville Volunteer Fire Company Farmer’s and Threshermens Jubilee.  Another reminder for me, this time of the hard work and sacrifice it took our forefathers to build and feed this great country of ours.

Sunday was church at the Geiger Church of the Brethren. The Sunday school message that morning was about death; how do we prepare? Are we ready?  What in our lives can complicate that preparation? And another reminder…we don’t always get the opportunity to prepare.

After church we had lunch with Kim’s parents at the Eat’n Park Restaurant in Somerset and decided we would just jump on the Pennsylvania Turnpike to go home. As I was waiting to leave, the manager at the Eat’n Park asked if I had come from the Flight 93 Memorial.  I explained we were here visiting family. The restaurant is next to the Harley-Davidson of Somerset motorcycle shop.  I told her about the photo my sister had sent me a few weeks earlier of that same spot as she and my brother-in-law participated in the 2016 America’s 9/11 Motorcycle Ride.

“Oh yeah” she said, “the motorcycles.”

She then expressed her disappointment that this year’s ride was to be the last.

“They donated an ambulance you know.”

Now in the truck ready to go home, the idea of visiting the Flight 93 Memorial on this day in particular seemed like the appropriate thing to do. I had never been there.  We were directed to park in an overflow parking lot since the visitors were many and walked the paths up to the Memorial Visitor Center.  All around the grounds, you could see what remained of the ceremonies that took place that morning or the evening before; the wreaths, the tents, the temporary bleachers, and stacks of chairs.

We waited in line for almost an hour to enter the Visitor Center. Once inside it didn’t take long to be transported back to that day with a rush of emotion.  I lifted the “phone” receiver and listened to their voices, those final calls and goodbyes; I viewed their names and faces on the wall and read the stories as the video of the World Trade Center attacks played over and over.  Everyone was quiet and solemn.

We walked down to the site of the impact. The large hemlock gate to the path where the boulder marks the impact site was open today. Only open once a year on this day according to the Park Ranger stationed at the gate.

We stood at The Wall of Names where fresh wreaths, flowers, and notes lay at the base of each stone panel honoring those who perished.

“Thank you for your sacrifice, God Bless You” read one note.

“Your sacrifice saved hundreds, Thank You!” read another.

I read the names again. The names of those patriots, who maybe with make-shift weapons of boiling water, a fire extinguisher, and who knows what else; made the ultimate sacrifice in what was the first battle of the new war threatening our freedoms.

They left their homes and their loved ones and boarded a jet not knowing how complicated their lives would be in a short while. How complicated their deaths would be.  They soon knew they were going to die; they had no time to prepare.

But they acted.

And they acted on our behalf.

And I was reminded once more.

And I will remember.

We should all remember.

 

“Are you guys ready? Let’s roll.” (Flight 93 passenger and patriot Todd Beamer)

Items left for flight attendant Sandy Bradshaw at the Wall of Names

I Wish I Had

I Wish I Had

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Donny

Today is July 18th.

This morning Cameron and I were sitting on the deck making fart noises into our walkie-talkies and laughing hysterically.

When you are seven and sixty-one it is okay to make fart noises.  Though I will admit this is the first time I have ever made fart noises through a walkie-talkie.  If you were monitoring channel 21 earlier today I apologize.

From my journal, I read this from July 16,  2015:

This is the text message I got from Kim today:

“Thirteen years ago today was the last time I saw Donny”

When Kim took the kids to the airport that morning of July 16, 2002, to put them on a plane to Las Vegas to see their father who they hadn’t seen in a while, she was scared.  She herself hated to fly, and the decision to let Donny and Savannah make this trip in the first place was a difficult one.  Now she was at the security gate about to send them through to the area only ticketed passengers were allowed to go.

Security was tight, after all it had been less than a year since 9/11.  When Kim encountered the security agent checking tickets she begged and pleaded and told the man about her kids and that it was their first time flying, the situation in general,  and most of all her anxiety.  Would he just let her go through and wait with them at the gate?

This nice man, at the risk of his job probably, let her go through.

In the gate area they ate food at Friday’s and at some point Donny said she could leave, that they would be fine.  Though she walked away, Kim didn’t leave the area and she watched them until they boarded the airplane, they were unaware.

Coincidentally, on July 16th, 2002, President George W. Bush announced his plan for strengthening homeland security in the wake of the September 11, 2001(911) terrorist attacks on New York and Washington, D.C. He created the Department of Homeland Security and the color-coded warning system that differentiated the levels of threat.

Thanks to the pre-Homeland Security airport employee who took a big risk, Kim had the small consolation of a moment and a memory.

Tomorrow it will be 15 years since Donny’s accident and it is still difficult.  We have never yielded to the advice to “get over it” or to “move on”.  And though we were told that God wouldn’t give us more than we could handle, there are many times when we can’t handle it.  Time doesn’t heal, it just changes the pain.

 

I never made fart noises with Donny.  He was a little older and I was a little younger and we were way too cool for that.

But you know what?

I wish I had.

I wish I had done a lot of things.

So if Cameron wants to make fart noises through our walkie talkies, I’m going to be right there with him.

I never want to “wish I had” again.

Reminders

Reminders

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20160911_160041_001“IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL SEPTEMBER MORNING WITH A BLUE SKY…JUST A NORMAL DAY.”

Joy Knepp, Teacher, Shanksville –Stoneycreek School from the display at the Flight 93 Memorial Visitor Center

On an early New England morning in 1775, on the common green in Lexington Massachusetts, a small group of patriots prepared to square off against a large invading British force of about 700 troops. Moments later a shot was fired, and the first battle of the war to establish our nation’s freedom had begun.

Two hundred and twenty six years later, on “a beautiful September morning with a blue sky…just a normal day” over the green mountains and hills of western Pennsylvania, another small group of brave Patriots waged the first battle of a new war to protect those freedoms fought so hard for many years ago.

“…a beautiful September morning with a blue sky…”

Much like today I thought,  as I left the Flight 93 Visitor Center and began the walk down the tree lined path to the impact site below.   Though the morning was cool, the now mid to late afternoon sun caused me to remove my Harley Davidson of Somerset PA sweatshirt and tie it around my waist.  Kim did the same with her Steelers sweatshirt.  The occasional large dark cloud loomed almost symbolically right over the Flight 93 Memorial Visitor Center, so low it looked like you could almost reach up and touch it.  I guess something in the sky had to be there to remind us of the darkness of that day, joining the reminders on the grounds around me.  Though it was a beautiful day, this day, September 11th would never again be just a normal one.

 

Needing to decompress a little, Kim and I decided to make a trip up to see the family on the farm in Markleton, Pennsylvania in Somerset County. It was a weekend of reminders.

I got my first reminder on Friday while still at home. I got an email via my website from Jimmy P. McLaughlin.  I stared at that email for long time before realizing that this Jimmy was a Jimmy P, so I opened it up.  Jimmy it turns out is a blogger who stumbled upon my website and sent me the following message:

I just discovered this–thanks for introducing me to a kindred spirit… see my blog at stateoflubbock.blogspot.com. Thanks, Jimmy P. McLaughlin  

Thanks Jimmy for helping me to remember your kindred spirit, another patriot, on this day.

By early Saturday morning we were in Western Pennsylvania. I have been to Somerset County many times over the last almost 20 years and thought I was fairly well versed in the farm community life and history.  I got my eyes opened on Saturday by attending the New Centerville Volunteer Fire Company Farmer’s and Threshermens Jubilee.  Another reminder for me, this time of the hard work and sacrifice it took our forefathers to build and feed this great country of ours.

Sunday was church at the Geiger Church of the Brethren. The Sunday school message that morning was about death; how do we prepare? Are we ready?  What in our lives can complicate that preparation? And another reminder…we don’t always get the opportunity to prepare.

After church we had lunch with Kim’s parents at the Eat’n Park Restaurant in Somerset and decided we would just jump on the Pennsylvania Turnpike to go home. As I was waiting to leave the manager at the Eat’n Park asked if I had come from the Flight 93 Memorial.  I explained we were here visiting family. The restaurant is next to the Harley-Davidson of Somerset motorcycle shop.  I told her about the photo my sister had sent me a few weeks earlier of that same spot as she and my brother-in-law participated in the 2016 America’s 9/11 Motorcycle Ride.

“Oh yeah” she said, “the motorcycles.” She then expressed her disappointment that this year’s ride was to be the last.

“They donated an ambulance you know.”

Now in the truck ready to go home, the idea of visiting the Flight 93 Memorial on this day in particular seemed like the appropriate thing to do. I had never been there.  We were directed to park in an overflow parking lot since the visitors were many and walked the paths up to the Memorial Visitor Center.  All around the grounds you could see what remained of the ceremonies that took place that morning or the evening before; the wreaths, the tents, the temporary bleachers, and stacks of chairs.

We waited in line almost an hour to enter the Visitor Center. Once inside it didn’t take long to be transported back to that day with a rush of emotion.  I lifted the “phone” receiver and listened to their voices, those final calls and goodbyes; I viewed their names and faces on the wall and read the stories as the video of the World Trade Center attacks played over and over.  Everyone was quiet and solemn.

We walked down to the site of the impact. The large hemlock gate to the path where the boulder marks the impact site was open today. Only open once a year on this day according to the Park Ranger stationed at the gate.

We stood at The Wall of Names where fresh wreaths, flowers, and notes lay at the base of each stone panel honoring those that perished.

“Thank you for your sacrifice, God Bless You” read one note.

“Your sacrifice saved hundreds, Thank You!” read another.

I read the names again. The names of those patriots, who maybe with make-shift weapons of boiling water, a fire extinguisher, and who knows what else; made the ultimate sacrifice in what was the first battle of the new war threatening our freedoms.

They left their homes and their loved ones and boarded a jet not knowing how complicated their lives would be in a short while. How complicated their deaths would be.  They soon knew they were going to die; they had no time to prepare.

But they acted.

And they acted on our behalf.

And I was reminded once more.

And I will remember.

We should all remember.

 

“Are you guys ready? Let’s roll.” (Flight 93 passenger and patriot Todd Beamer)

Items left for flight attendant Sandy Bradshaw at the Wall of Names
Items left for flight attendant Sandy Bradshaw at the Wall of Names

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