SEPTEMBER 11TH… TIME PASSES QUICKLY..

2019

ANOTHER SAD ANNIVERSARY OF REMEMBERING….

Programs on television.. re-runs of  videos…towers in smoke and flames..people standing in disbelief, not knowing what to think about what they were seeing or what to do at the moment…

Stand?  Run?  Where should I go? Is it real? What is happening?

Devastation.

It seems like only yesterday. Has it really been 18 years?

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It all comes back to me.

REMEMBER how you feel when a loved one dies?  Emptiness, hurt, sadness…Those feelings didn’t go away in the days to follow.  Feelings of despair remained.

I remember one night shortly after September 11th,  I had gone for a ride in my car.  I was alone and darkness had fallen earlier.  My husband was at work at his business and I wanted some time to be with my feelings of loss.  I couldn’t get rid of them it seemed.

The radio was on in the car.

 A song began by Alan Jackson, country singer.

“WHERE WERE YOU WHEN THE WORLD STOPPED TURNING?”

…Did you go to your church?  I did, as did many others .  I don’t really  remember all the lyrics to that song, but I still remember how they spoke to me at the time.

I was driving down a lonely road in the darkness of the night and the song comforted me.

 God bless Alan Jackson for writing and recording it. Through it, he touched everyone who heard it then, and now.

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(“Where Were You When The World Stopped Turning?)

 

Photography By Mary Anne Tuck

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AND THAT HAS MADE ALL THE DIFFERENCE…

Ahead  were only dreary, boring days and years of waiting to get “old.”  There was nothing new to do nor places to see or ROADS to travel.

“When you come to a fork in the ROAD,

take it.”

(Yogi Berra had the right idea.)

I love to  reminisce and write about bygone times, remembering the people I’ve known, especially those who have made a difference in the ” me” I’ve become at the age of 83. I once thought 83 was really, really old. It isn’t.

Actually, I once believed that 50 was old. As I recall, 50 was old when my grandmothers were alive.

I was devastated the day I turned thirty. Life was over, I was no longer “twenty-something”. Looking forward, there was nothing left to life.

Ahead  were only dreary, boring days and years of waiting to get “old.”  There was nothing new to do nor places to see or “roads” to travel.

There were no college years for me.

When I am required to check off my level of education on an application, the box to check must be “graduated high-school”.

My Dad always commented, ” Some folks attend college and still don’t have enough sense to come in out of the rain.”

I feel good about his comment because my high school education helps me to remember to carry my umbrella on a cloudy day.

That reminds me, a week or so ago I purchased a new umbrella. It was very easy to raise, but for the life of me I couldn’t figure out how to lower it when I got inside a building.

You’ll be happy to know, with a great deal of concentration, I finally figured out how to  return it to its original closed position by pushing the little “down” arrow located right underneath the “up” arrow.

Who says a high school education isn’t worth much?

I grew up in a small northern town in the lower peninsula of Michigan. My family moved to another town, thirty miles away, when I was seventeen. When we are living them, the years seem long.

One could hardly think of me as a world traveler, but I’ve learned much about life from the shores of Michigan’s largest inland lake; Houghton Lake.

Married sixty-two years, my husband and I raised three sons. It’s difficult to imagine someone as young as I, having sons who are now in their fifties and sixties. Facts are not always as they seem.

Life is like a dream.

I heard someone make a statement just the other day about “alternative” facts.(Perhaps I should research some of those when describing my attributes.)

copyright©2018

Photography By Mary Anne Tuck

* *

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one to where it bent in the undergrowth.

And took the other as just as fair

And having perhaps the better claim

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that, the passing there

Had worn them really about the same.

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day,

Yet knowing how way leads unto way,

I doubted that I would ever be back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood,

And I, I took the road less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

robert frost mailbox

The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost

We traveled to New Hampshire many years ago and found this old mail box. It resides on the narrow  gravel road in front of one of the summer homes of Robert Frost. It’s a lovely place. This writing of his has always been my favorite. I carry a copy of it with me at all times. I read it over and over.

It speaks to me.

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