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Saturday, September 15, 2001

It was almost like a normal day. I slept in, and although it wasn't enough to make up for the sleep I've missed this week, at least it was a few hours away from the voices. I tried to get to the grocery store, but apparently everyone else who's been housebound all week had the same notion, and after driving around the parking lot a couple of times I gave up and came home. I watched some movies (X-Men turned out to be perhaps not the wisest choice of diversion) and did some work (the Boss found his way back to his office after a week away, so there was indeed work to be done).

Some day, we'll be used to what happened. It hasn't even been a week yet, and already it seems inevitable. By January 1964, it felt as if LBJ had been president forever, and JFK was a figure from history. With so many lives still deeply affected, we're nowhere near there yet.

We're processing everything, from how we spend the day to what the future shape of the world will be, through this filter of grudging recognition of the new realities. Some of us are lucky enough to be able to take a day like today and try to block it out. It doesn't work, not fully, and it doesn't come without some guilt. There were funerals held today, after all.

Last night, Mom, Suzanne and I went to the theater. The local community theater company opened in its new home with a production of Oliver! It's a small room, with a tiny stage, more suited for intimate concerts than a big musical show. They made it work with spare sets, and a highly abridged version of the play. Somehow they told the whole story by jumping from song to song, with brief scenes of exposition where necessary.

What made the show fun was the energy, especially from the kids who played the orphans (and later Fagin's boys ... and girls, yay!). Despite the inadequate sightlines, the new theater has magnificent acoustics, so we could hear every word, even from the softest-voiced actors. There were several terrific performances, and on the whole it was a well-spent evening.

We can't help dig through the debris. We can give a little money (or a little blood), but that doesn't solve much. We can't even go to the funerals (although Mom did go to one today, for one of her oldest friends).

What we can do is spend time with each other, mindful of those families who will never have that chance again. We can shed a few tears for a poor lost orphan who never loses heart and finds his way home. We can remember that there is hope, however faint, and light, however dim, as long as there is life, even if it's only in our memory.


Before the show we went to dinner at the new Applebee's on the north side of town. I'd never been there, but since I had two navigators, I only got a little bit lost.

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