Mockingbird Hill Cottage

Hostas have been eaten by deer.

Stay safe.

Happy Saturday.

I was going to write a chatty post today but I find I am overwhelmed by the enormity of 9/11 and what happened 25 years ago today. I’ve been reading stories and crying. When Don and I realized it would be the 25th anniversary of 9/11 today, we said “Of course.” Because we moved from San Diego to NY at the beginning of July in 2001. We moved to a little rental cottage in Westchester County, just north of Manhattan. The Hudson River was maybe a half mile from our home.

On that particular morning, I was alone with the dogs because Don was in Canada rehearsing a play. As everyone who was in the area always says, it was a spectacularly beautiful morning. I remember standing in the yard with the dogs marveling at the clear blue skies.

When I saw the first few reports of a plane involved in an accident at the World Trade Center, I envisioned a small plane, maybe a single engine aircraft. That was the picture that appeared in my mind. I turned on the television and very quickly learned that it was another thing entirely. And I sat there for hours, shocked, unbelieving, stunned – I, like millions, saw it all unfold on my television set.

I tried to call Don, but connections weren’t going through. He learned of it in a coffee shop and raced back to his apartment to call me. He couldn’t get through. We finally got a call through just before the second plane crashed into the other tower and watched it unfold on our respective television screens.

Later, I learned that one of those planes – maybe both? – flew into NYC after flying down the Hudson River, using it as their guide. Right by my house.

It was eerily quiet all day long. I saw a neighbor and we silently acknowledged each other, both of us too emotional to say anything. In the afternoon, I was outside with the dogs and I heard the loud sound of a plane’s engine flying down the Hudson River. Since all flights had been grounded, I knew it had to be a military plane, most likely from the National Guard base. I couldn’t see the plane, but the noise was very loud.

I was supposed to go see Urinetown  on Broadway that night. My friend was the director. Needless to say, that didn’t happen.

One more memory: about 2 weeks later, I went into the city to teach my first class at the American Academy of Dramatic Art. As I emerged from the train into  Grand Central Station, I saw thousands of notices pinned to boards and to poles. Inside and outside, as well. Each notice had a picture and a message that included the words “Have you seen?…” Thousands of them. By this point, we knew that there were no more survivors. I stood there reading them, walking from one posting place to another, sobbing the entire time. The heartbreak, the loss, the hope denied. It was all there. They remained there for a long time.

May we never forget.

And may we stop annihilating innocent victims of useless and senseless wars, as well as supporting those who are committing genocide. No more.

Stay safe.