Where were you when the world stopped turning?

I almost didn't write anything about 9/11, because it's hard to know exactly what to say. It's almost too big to write about -- too significant for someone as insignificant as me.

I was one of the lucky ones; I didn't lose any family members or friends that day. I did, however, lose a sense of comfort and peace I had once had. Suffice it to say, we all did.

I will never forget that day. Really, who will? I will never forget how it made me feel; not just the obvious sadness and devastation, but that sense that we were no longer safe.

I work for the Department of Defense, on a base that houses the biggest research & development lab in the country. At the time, my toddler was part of the base's daycare, and my son, a part of their afterschool care program. Remember what happened to the daycare center in the Oklahoma City Federal Building when it was bombed in 1995? Yeah, me, too. After 9/11, I wasn't sure I could ever comfortably return to work again, or send my children to their daycares again. What if a terrorist targeted our base? I wondered. It wasn't that far-fetched, really. I felt as if the rug was literally pulled out from under me--from all of us--and I wondered if we'd ever feel as normal or safe as we once had.

I guess after any tragedy our sense of "normal" changes. Whether it's the assasination of a president, the space shuttle exploding in the sky, a tsunami wiping out thousands, a hurricane changing everyone's world, or some cowardly terrorists doing the unthinkable -- "normal" gets readjusted. It's probably why we all remember precisely where we were when those tragedies occurred.

Nowadays, I feel a little safer, but I am reminded of 9/11 every day when I go through the crazy barricaded obstacle course that leads up to our gate guards; I am reminded when I can't park within 50 feet of all the buildings where I do business; I am reminded every morning at 8:00am when the national anthem is broadcast from the base headquarters.

I feel blessed that I don't have to live in New York City, Washington, D.C., or Pennsylvania, and be reminded by bigger, more blaringly obvious things. How empty it must be to see where the Twin Towers once stood; how unnerving to look at the Pentagon and recall the day when a section of it was on fire; how heartbreaking to see that field in Pennsylvania and imagine those innocent passengers putting up the fight of their lives. I feel blessed that I didn't know one, single person that perished that day.

And yet, in a way, we kind of knew them all. They were just like us: moms and dads, daughters and sons, friends and co-workers. Just everyday people trying to go about their lives--not knowing that, in a brief instant, all of it would end. Forever.

There's really nothing more to add... I'm just sending up prayers, asking God to protect us all, and to please comfort those most affected by that tragic and horrific event that took place seven years ago today.

"The only thing we have to fear is fear itself..." - FDR

Today's post over at Vintage Thirty

(http://vintagethirty.blogspot.com/2008/09/someone-stop-her-from-making-horrible.html) got me thinking about the fears I have. Some of which may be rather irrational.

Here are some of mine:

Vomiting, aka Emetephobia:

Yes, I have a fear of vomiting. Now, I realize most people don't enjoy vomiting, but I actually fear it. So much so, that if I hear that someone within a 2-mile radius has even had as much as an upset stomach, my heart skips a few beats. If someone has actually thrown up in the last 24 hours and is standing nearby?!! For God sakes, bust out the Lysol! I go into a full blown panic attack, washing my hands even more than usual, making sure not to touch my face, touching absolutely no doorknobs, spraying Lysol into the air and onto every surface, and breathing very shallow breaths (as to not breathe in germs, you see). And praying. A lot. I am not even kidding. What's just as bad is hearing someone vomiting. My kids? I can handle that. It's not pleasant, but I go into full blown Mommy Mode and just take care of things. But if anyone else does? Oh, God help me. I remember my ex-husband used to get upset stomachs really easily--especially if we fought. (And, considering that he is now my ex, suffice it to say that wasn't all that uncommon.) The morning after a big fight, he'd often start puking. I can still remember sitting as far away from the bathroom as possible, blaring the t.v., holding my fingers in my ears, trembling, praying for it to stop, and attempting to comfort myself by rocking back and forth. Yes, it bothers me that much. Remind me never to pursue a career in nursing.

Bees/Wasps/Flying Insects that Sting, aka Apiphobia:

I have never been stung by anything in my life. Yet, I have this enormous fear of being stung. Nothing is worse than being out in public -- ALONE -- and encountering a bee. I look like a complete lunatic, shooing the Death Insect away, screaming, half-crying, running around in circles... yes, it's quite a sight to be seen. One time, I was cleaning tumbleweeds out of my mother's back lot, and a wasp flew past me. I still remember running, in slow motion, and ending up in the air parallel with the ground. Between me and the ground, however, was a giant tumbleweed.... that I landed directly in. My poor mother spent two hours with a tweezer plucking thorns out of my skin. Because we all know that those 52,346 thorns are nowhere near as painful as one wasp sting. Riiight. I have also been known to push my children out of the way as I run for cover, when I see a bee in the general vicinity. Don't call CPS just yet, though; I at least scream while doing this, to alert them to the impending doom.

The Dark, aka Achluophobia:

All I'm going to say is it's not unusual, if left alone at night, for me to sprint through the house, flipping on one light after the next.

Lightning, aka Astrapophobia:

You'd think I'd appreciate the lightning (it does get rid of the darkness!), but, um... no, not so much. It scares the bejeezus out of me. I'm fine if I'm safe inside, but God forbid it's anywhere in the sky when I'm outdoors. I am 100% positive I'm going to be struck down by it. Hmm, now that I think about it... that might say a lot about what I feel I have coming to me... don't you think?

Don't waste life in doubts and fears; spend yourself on the work before you, well assured that the right performance of this hour's duties will be the best preparation for the hours and ages that will follow it. -- Ralph Waldo Emerson

What are your fears?

Rainbows, butterflies and puppies!

My husband always accuses me of living in a world of "Rainbows, butterflies and puppies." I am starting to see his point.

A few weeks ago, I asked him to pick up our daughter from a friend's house. I have been there several times before but he never had. It's on a dirt road, but I couldn't tell you the name of the actual street if my life depended on it. So, my directions went something like this:

"You know where their school is, right? Okay, go off of the pavement just beyond the school, and take the little wiggly dirt road that's to your left. When you get to the end of the wiggly road (why am I having Dora the Explorer flashbacks?), you'll see ("Swiper! SWIPER, NO SWIPING!") a few roads that branch off from it. Go to the one in the middle. It's, like, the 2nd house on the left. Or maybe the first. I'm not sure. Maybe it's the second lot IN. There are five dogs out front. They're VERY cute. I think one of them's a beagle. And there's a chow. Just pull up and honk and Erica's mom should meet you at the gate."

So he kind of goes, "Uh-huh..." as if taking directions from a 3-year-old. Which, really, probably would have been much more specific and a helluva lot easier to follow.

I get a call on my cell phone, shortly thereafter. The conversation goes like this:

Him: "Okay, I'm sitting in front of a house, but I don't know if it's the right one. I've honked but no one's come out."

Me: "Are there five adorable dogs at the fence, barking?"
Him: "Um, no, only a few. But not five."

Me: "Hmmm. There were definitely five."

Him: "Is there a big yellow jeep out front with an oil drilling rig on the back of it?"
Me: "An oil drilling wha...???"
Him: "*SIGH* An oil drilling rig. You can not miss it. It's HUGE. And very uncommon."

Me: "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Him: "Is there a lot of junk in the yard?"
Me: "I couldn't tell you."

Him: "Okay. Then is there a lot to the left of their house that has a trailer on it that's burned down?"

Me: "A trailer? Hmmm... I don't know."

Him: "Susan. You CAN NOT miss it. It's this huge trailer that's been destroyed, and it's all burned down! Surely you would've seen it if it's next door to their house."

Me: "Not necessarily."

Him: "Why do you say that?"
Me: "Because I only look at pretty things."

Him: "You're kidding, right?"

Me: "No! I mean, if there's something ugly, like an old trailer that's burnt down, well... I just look away. It's too depressing!"
Him: "Oh my god. Here we go again with the butterflies, rainbows and puppy dogs. It's unbelievable, really. What do you do? Go through life seeing ugly things and then immediately looking away saying, 'Yikes, can't look at that! It's ugly! Oh wait, look -- a pine tree! That's pretty! I will focus on THAT!'"

Me: "Mmm, pretty much."

Turns out he was at the right house afterall. I have never seen the burned down trailer or the hideous yellow jeep that has an oil drilling rig attached to it. Nor have I seen "junk" in their yard. All I've seen are the cute little doggies that come to the fence and bark.

And had there been a rainbow and some butterflies, you can bet I would've seen those, too.