In New York, It's Impossible to Forget

I've lived within thirty miles of midtown Manhattan my whole life. Sometimes, I inadvertently have the New York arrogance that we live at the center of the world. I forget that what happens here, doesn't always affect the rest of the country or the world in the same personal & all-encompassing way it does for those of us who consider the city our backyard.

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I in no way mean to suggest that September 11, 2001 did not impact our entire country. Of course it did. I know that everyone who watched or listened to live reports, or those who awoke to a world turned upside down remembers where they were, what they were doing, or who they were with on that infamous day. What I remember still runs chills up my arms.

I got to school, through first period, and onto second before everything changed. During homeroom announcements, prayers and intentions, we were asked to pray for those affected by the accident at the World Trade Center. I mildly recall girls whose parents may have worked in the buildings leaving class and heading up to the main hall. Many of us had parents working in all different corners of the city. But we still didn't get what was going on.

When I got to art, our guidance counselor was in the front of the classroom listening to the radio with Ms. P. It wasn't weird that she was there, but the look on her face was ominous. By then, we knew planes hit the towers, but we still didn't get the whole "terrorism" thing. We were 16. She explained that nothing would ever be the same, how this was a significant event in the history of the United States, and beyond that - I can't really recall...

We wandered around campus in a somber haze. My most vivid memory from the day is standing outside on what was one of the most unforgettably beautiful days of my life, my face craning towards the clearest blue sky, closing my eyes, and listening to the frantic sirens of every emergency response vehicle in Westchester heading to where everyone'd been running from.

I remember being in the cafeteria when I finally talked to mom. My dad worked five miles north of the World Trade Center, and should have been fine - but you couldn't call anyone in the city. All circuits were busy. She said, "Daddy's ok." It was all I needed to hear - but she continued: my aunt was ok, dad's friend was ok, her friend's husband, my uncle, etc. Whoa. We were so lucky.

This wasn't just an attack on America. In New York, it was an attack in our backyard, against our families, friends, neighbors, way of life, and identity. My sister's friends lost their dads. My dance teacher was run out of one of the towers over the shoulder of a firefighter. We'd never let a bag go unclaimed in Grand Central again. It'd be forever difficult to sit in traffic on a bridge or tunnel without a cringe. I wouldn't apply to any colleges in the city. New Yorkers would never feel as safe as we might if we lived anywhere else in the country.

Today is a spectacular sunny blue sky day, just like it was eleven years ago. If you weren't here that day, you probably don't remember that part of the story - but for me, especially on days like this, it's impossible to ever forget.

On Constant Repeat :: Caoineadh Cú Chulainn

It's been a pretty tough week around here. On Sunday night, one of the most fun-loving people I've ever know passed away suddenly, in an accident. Keith was one of a kind. Over the course of this week, I've scribbled down a million notes in an attempt to streamline the thoughts swirling behind my faraway stare. But I'm still having trouble getting them out.

To say that Keith was just a bartender, or that his family's bar is just a bar - couldn't be further from reality. A firefighter, friend, and lover of life, Keith lived every day as if it were his last bringing a smile to the face of everyone he encountered. The bar, our Cheers, is a living room for the monster New Rochelle and Iona family ever present in his life. Hundreds of people waited for hours in thunderstorms to pay their respects - a testament to his far reaching impact on all of our lives. For nine years Keith was a fixture in my life, ever present to serve up some liquid courage, flash those infamous abs, or lend me an ever needed ear.

From my sorority sisters to my parents, my boyfriend to my former flames, my sister to my dart team - we all knew and loved this amazing man who taught us how to live every day as if it were our last, never turn down the opportunity for a costume, and never take life too seriously. I can pinpoint the day that Keith's insistence on my presence at the bar rerouted the entire course of my life - and I wouldn't have it any other way.

For the time I was granted with him, my gratitude is immeasurable.
I'm honored to have called him a friend.

Finally. Justice.

I had written a little bit about Lindsey last month on her birthday (not that I got very specific about her death; I'd rather reminisce her life). I'm so glad for the sake of everyone who cared for her that this whole debacle is finally over. It's been a long road and I'm sick of seeing her murderer's face. He's gross.

Thanks for humoring the post, it's a video worth saving so far as I'm concerned.

The Song That Lindsey Likes

I sorta kinda couldn't have decided to start this whole blog thing with a better Tunesday Tuesday than March 20th.
This story might be a little long, apologies in advance...
Well, first off, here's the jam:

Dave Matthews Band - The Song That Jane Likes
(LYRICS, these are important)

linds & i before jr prom. an all-time favorite.

In high school, my best friend Lindsey (born March 20, 1985) once told me, in that "I- have-no-idea-why-really-can't-give-you-a-good-reason" way, that this song made her think of me. It wasn't one that we listened to any more than the others in our early Dave Matthews and folky rock repertoire, but for some reason the opening of the song made me pop into her head. I took it; just never gave it much thought.

In May 2005, Lindsey was murdered while we were in a stupid fight and hadn't spoken in months.

Now, I've never been one for flaunting my tattoos online. This is for a couple of reasons, one of which is maintaining my originality. I cringe every time I see another birds flying from feather tattoo. Don't get me wrong, I understand that some people aren't as tied to each of their tattoos having deep meaning as I am. I digress... 

I knew I'd memorialize her on my skin, and immediately went and got a tiny star tattooed on my foot. Not only had we discussed matching tiny star tattoos years earlier, but I'd even carved one into her ankle with a thumbtack in an adolescent attempt at scarification which would quickly fade (to go with the heart I cut into my foot, duh). But the star wasn't enough for me.

see the tiny sand-covered star on my right foot? near my pinkie toe? it's there, i swear.

I needed more Linds-ness, and it took me a while to figure out how exactly to get it. Until I listened to this song, for the god knows, thousandth or so time. The lyrics finally hit me. "WHILE YOU AROUND HERE PLAY, warm on the wild and far away." Now if anyone was ever playful and wild, it was Lindsey.

I went so far as to piece together bits of her handwriting from an old card:

But ended up going with tattooey (new word I just made up, love it?) script instead:

I've since added even more to the tattoo -- but for the sake of (at long last) brevity, and in keeping with the Tunesday theme, that's quite enough. The Song That Jane Likes inspired one of my tattoos, and reminds me to live like Lindsey.

Here are a few more that do the same:

320 from lgaston1 on 8tracks.

Happy 27th Birthday Dear Angel.