Since Midlife Crisis Crossover has only been around for sixteen months, I haven’t had the chance to establish any creative annual traditions yet. I’d prefer 9/11 not be one of them, but I already expressed 99% of my thoughts on the subject last year — answering the burning questions of “Where were you when, y’know, that happened?” and “How do you spend that day each year?” Rather than rewrite it from a different perspective, or reboot the whole thing as a brand new version of me with a completely different sequence of events, instead the link is enclosed here for newer readers who weren’t with us at the time, or for any longtime fans who appreciate the value of an occasional rerun:
–> Waiting Patiently for My Annual Day of Stillness to End
Those who prefer all-new material are welcome to some local on-topic trivia: my hometown of Indianapolis has its very own 9/11 memorial downtown. The dual centerpieces are girders recovered from the actual site, together weighing eleven tons.
We visited too early in the day, at a time when other things overshadow it. I detect a metaphor in there I’d rather not explore.
The granite backdrop behind the girders reads like so.
Both photos by Anne Golden.
Last year I forgot we’d taken these, but they finally came to mind this evening. I’ve kept in slightly less introverted spirits this year, albeit with mixed results. As always, Lord willing, here’s to a much brighter tomorrow.
I remember when this tiny baby wasn’t ready for college.
The last time my family went to the theater, the ads that ran from the film’s scheduled showtime until the moment the feature presentation began spanned over twenty minutes. Many of the ads were movie trailers, but not all of them. Ads for new cars, smartphones, TV shows, and soft drinks are routine pre-show entertainment while you’re settling into your seat, mentally preparing yourself for temporary phone deprivation, swapping notes with your companions, and consuming your snack too early. Even when it’s ostensibly showtime, the commercial parade isn’t over yet, because a lot of manufacturers want a moment of your time, in exchange for keeping your theater in business.
Behold the author at age two, picture taken by a professional photographer circa 1974. To this day I can’t believe my mom agreed to pay for copies. I do understand the parental compulsion to save memories and moments of our offspring’s precious childhoods. Judging by my scornful expression, I gather this was a day in my life better off forgotten. I’d hate to see the rejected takes.
Midlife Crisis Crossover! 