A Gaping Hole

“I’m proud to be an American-- where at least, I know I’m free. And I won’t forget the men who died, who gave that right to me. And I’ll gladly stand up next to you and defend her still today. ‘Cause there ain’t no doubt, I love this land. God Bless the U.S.A.”

That is the chorus of a song that I love. Lee Greenwood made it a #1 hit during the summer of 1984, and I remember getting choked up the first few times I heard it. I was fighting for my life that summer, but I never paid the ultimate sacrifice. I was in a war but I’d enlisted, and I knew what I was up against. Those 2, 977 innocent victims of terrorism who died on September 11, 2001 did not enlist, and they did not suspect. They went to work or stepped onto an airplane, thinking the world was safe. Sane. Thinking that they would return home to their loved ones that evening.

How can we come to terms with what happened? How can we forgive? Can we ever forget?

Personally, I don’t WANT to forget. And truth be told, I am glad those 19 high-jackers died that day. For if they hadn’t... what would we have done? How long would we have had to look at them, and support them, and wrestle with what to do with them? How much longer would it have taken to heal our wounds, then? They may have firmly believed they were fighting for a good cause. That they were making the ultimate sacrifice to forward their sick and twisted agenda. Their campaign of hate against the western world. They might have truly believed there would be virgins awaiting them. Is it seven virgins? Nine? Nineteen? If I cared enough, I’d look it up. But I don’t care about them. They’re dead, and I’m glad. If that makes me a terrible person, then so be it.

They were wrong. Dead wrong. Violence is never the answer. And no god worth following would advocate the killing of innocent people. No god worth his or her salt would encourage a people to raise their children to hate.

I’m proud to be an American. For all my country’s faults, Americans’ hearts are in the right place. We’ve always tried to be accepting—often to the point of absurdity. We bend over backwards to make foreigners feel welcome. To give them the freedoms we’ve enjoyed… the rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. The freedom to worship whomever and however they choose. The right to speak out when they disagree with our policies. We haven’t been parsimonious… we’ve shared our privileges and our bounty with people the whole world over.

Some people don’t know a good thing when they see it.

Last year I visited the memorial at the World Trade Center. In the past, I’ve written about how that experience affected me. I’ll never forget the faces on the wall… the victims of terror’s power.

I’ll always remember the faces of the firefighters who backed the truck into the annex next door while I watched… the faces of those left behind to remember their fallen comrades. They confront that gaping hole every day. How do they do that? How do they survive?


I saw the twisted steel. The cell phone. The shoe. That steel couldn’t stand the inferno. The cell phone which was used to call for help. The shoe… just one lone shoe.

Someone’s shoe, for the love of God!

I didn’t lose a friend or family member that day, but I lost something essential, nonetheless. I’m a writer, but I can’t find the words to describe what was taken from me. What was stolen from good human beings across this country and around the world. You’ll understand though, won’t you? While I had it, I didn’t recognize it, but now that it is gone, I miss it terribly.

Nine years is a long time, and it’s naught but a heartbeat. My kids were little on that fateful day, now they’re almost grown. Life goes on, and time stands still.

I plan to stand still for a moment tomorrow morning. If you do the same, please remember those who fell and those who miss them. If you pray, pray to a god of love and not of hate, okay? And if you don’t pray, that’s all right, too. We all find our serenity in different ways, and we each have our own personal faiths. We each are free to practice those faiths in peace.

That’s just one of many things which are truly wonderful about this country. We’re allowed that.

God Bless the United States of America.

It's All in What You Know

This morning I had to run to town to pick up some packages at the post office. On the way back to Lexington Township I had the radio on, and I was listening with amusement to the banter between the disc jockey from Q106.5 and the meteorologist from WABI-TV.


The DJ was reading some survey results pertaining to which countries, world-wide, were the most desirable to live in. The United States had dropped from the number four spot it held in 2008, to seventh place in 2009. It was with some interest that I listened to the list of countries which were deemed to be better places than America in which to make one’s home.

France was number one. Australia came in second, and I felt a smile spread across my face. I have several very good friends who live Down Under, and so I know for a fact that that country is tops when it comes to the caliber of people who live there.

Of course JR, the DJ on my favorite radio station, couldn’t let that go. He’s a patriotic cuss, and so he tried his darnedest to come up with ways in which Australia must be inferior to the U.S. It was all in good fun. We Yanks are proud and stubborn, and not very good losers, either--because we rarely lose, of course! (See what I mean?)

It tickled me when he started going off on all the poisonous and dangerous animals that live in that vast continent in the southern hemisphere. He said, ‘Of the ten most poisonous snakes in the world, fifteen of them live in Australia!’

Hehehe. I thought that was kind of funny. And in fact, I have had ‘snake’ conversations with four of my Aussie friends. Although they admit to living in the same neighborhood as poisonous reptiles, not one of my chums seems to get worked up about it.

One friend came home from a grocery shopping trip to find a snake wrapped around the front door knob. What a conundrum! If my husband had been confronted by such a sight, he would have immediately put our home on the market and camped out at his mother’s until the house sold. But it didn’t faze my friend in Oz. He simply took off his shirt, wrapped it around the snake and removed him. Or her. After all, he couldn’t let the beer get warm as it sat in his car, now could he?

Another of my buddies talked about having seen a poisonous viper in his dooryard, and he matter-of-factly went about ‘snake-proofing’ his ranch. I’m not quite sure how one goes about ‘snake-proofing’, short of burning the place down, but it appeared no more of a chore to him than when I put banking around my foundation each fall.

Nope, having an abundance of deadly snakes, poisonous toads, lethal crocodiles and mosquitoes the size of F-15’s does not an undesirable country make. One of my friends in Australia is actually a Maine native, having grown up near Greenville. He’s lived Down Under for more than two decades, and just became a dual citizen. Larry owns property in the northern tropics, and he tells tales of crocs and snakes and sharks and bugs and vicious mammals. But he isn’t the least bit dramatic as he relates those tales. I suppose it’s akin to Mainers telling yarns about blizzards and ice storms, mud season and black fly season. It’s all in what you know.


Mr. Grumbles is afraid of snakes. He’s petrified of garter snakes, and cute little green snakes. He can run the 100 yard dash in 2.3 seconds flat if he sees a nest of six-inch-long baby snakes. He screams like a girl* if one slithers across in front of him when he’s walking outside.

He skirts the stone retaining wall on our upper lawn, simply because he knows that there are snakes living amongst those rocks.
But our snakes aren’t poisonous. Our snakes are usually quite complacent, and will allow you to pick them up if you are gentle. They won’t strike unless they feel threatened. And even if they do bite… their teeth are tiny! So tiny that they are almost invisible. Here in Maine, snakes are more often the prey than the predator. Unless you are an insect or a small toad or frog, you've got nothing to worry about.

Like I said, it’s all in what you know. My friend who grew up in these hills and chose Australia as his home despises the snow. Loves the heat and humidity. It was a good trade-off for him. Six months of bone-numbing cold and an occasional swarm of black flies ‘round his head every May in exchange for twelve months of warm weather and a plethora of poisonous fauna.

Mr. Grumbles, on the other hand, loves a good blizzard and never leaves home without full combat gear stowed in his rig; insulated coveralls, hats, mittens, gloves, extra boots and a blanket. He carries an ice scraper in his hammer holster. Wool socks in his glove box. Kitty litter in his trunk, along with a shovel and some flares. He’s got matches and lighters, chocolate bars and jack-knives. A cell phone. A CB. A walkie-talkie. And if none of those work, he’s got the matches to light the box of kitty litter afire, and the blanket to send up smoke signals. A blizzard, you say? No problem for Mr. Grumbles!!

But let a three foot long, non-poisonous snake tumble from the floor joist onto his head as he works in the cellar and watch that grown man run!
Listen to the wails and shrieks of panic. See how pale one dark-complexioned man can get; how badly his strong arms can shake; how discombobulated he can become! I didn’t even know he had a nicotine habit until I watched him pace back and forth outside as he tried to gather courage enough to come back into our snake-pit of a house; a cigarette in each hand and a stream of blue smoke coming from between his lips. And that was before he’d lit them!

No, my husband would not fare well in Australia. He’ll content himself with staying in the country that’s the seventh-best to live in. But Oz’s snakes wouldn’t bother me! Nuh-uh! I’m not afraid of them–no way, no how! I’d do just fine Down Under. The only thing I’m afraid of is spiders. And everybody knows, there aren’t any spiders in Australia.

Right?


* I, personaly, do not know of any girls who actually scream, and that comment was not intended as a slur to my gender. It is a turn of phrase, only.

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The photo of the snake and the worm was taken by Josie-Earl Pease. All others, save the Aussie flag (which I found in a Google search) were taken by the author of GAG.
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This is a photo of a fisher... a nasty critter we have here in Maine, and one you do NOT want to tangle with! See comments below for context.


Here is is, folks! A photo taken right here in Maine, by the Canadian border. The largest mammal in North America, and a perfect example of a bull in his prime. He was twice the size of the car, and folks were some tickled when he turned and walked in the opposite direction!



These are rare photos of a black bear sow and her quintuplets. Almost unheard of! The really grand thing? All five made it through their first, harsh New England winter. These pics were taken in neighboring New Hampshire, across Maine's western border. Pretty magnificent, hmmm?