9/11 Memorial, NYC, Uncategorized

My JFK Day

As I was about to turn off my radio to head to school the host starts laughing and says; “get this, some idiot ran their plane into the World Trade Center in New York City. Buddy, those are pretty big and hard to miss {chuckling with co-host}. . . . . . . oh wait, we just heard this is quite serious, we will keep you updated as we know more.” The time was 6:55AM in Utah (8:55AM in NYC).

Every T.V. in our cafeteria was on, every student was silent. They were replaying the second tower getting hit over and over. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. The T.V. stayed on in my first period class for about 10min before my math teacher decided there was no reason to watch anymore. We argued then proceeded to ignore everything math related until a science teacher came by to tell us that the Pentagon was just hit and nobody was teaching.

My generation had just encountered it’s JFK day.

Sept 11 Mem

Walking down the stairs I feel a breeze rush past me. “Just get out and run”. Some pillars still stand, adorned with patches and pictures, memories and an unmistakable pain and burden. Videos are on, surrounding you, calling out all the details over and over. You want to move on but you can’t, but there is more so you do. Going deeper the blood starts flowing faster, harder. Whispers, echos, penetrating and yet emanating from everywhere. A quilt with words of encouragement from an elementary school in Colorado lines one wall. Behind, the whispers become louder. Closer, louder. A mother, a brother, a son, a sister. They all have something to say. A memory, a message. Every face, all 2,977 of them smile down on you. You want to smile back, but it hurts so much.

Deeper still, reaching past the heart and into the soul. But there is one corner that seems it should be reserved for Hades. It’s dark, it’s filled with doom. It is the worst thing you have ever witnessed. ‘Turn away, it’s not right to look’, you tell yourself out of respect, but you can’t. They stand outside windows, waving t-shirts of white, searching for a savior that will never come – and so they jump. They fall, they plummet, they know what’s coming. But it’s only their bodies going to meet Hades at Styx, because the moment they took that last step their soul ascended, free from the smoke and pain and fear.

The details are endless. You could go through 100 times and still see something new – and each time will not be easier, but harder. They tell you to give yourself 90minutes to go through. But how can you only give this 90 minutes of your time? It will take days. It will take reading every little detail, it will take telling everyone around you to go see it.

Eventually I will be bringing my own children here. They will probably come home from school one day, asking what I remember about that day. It will strike me how strange it is that they don’t know. How could they not know? Then, while I tell my children everything, I will pray that they never have to experience anything like this. Yet in my heart I think I know this isn’t true. For every generation seems to have their day in their history that shakes their world, so I will just hope that they can take it all in and remember it all like I have. We can build a memorial and a museum, make documentaries and docu-drama movies to be passed down through the generations, but it is up to the individual to hold those memories in their heart. To never forget but always remember without the aid of a memorial.

The true memorial should always reside in your heart.


Living the High-rise Life

Now that our couch and dinner table have FINALLY been delivered I feel like I can quite literally sit back and share this moving experience.

When we first met I was temporarily in the Financial District. Knowing I was going to be on the East Side before coming to New York was a system-shocker enough, the Financial District was a whole other beast. Needless to say, I was quite relieved to be out of that confusion. . . until I realized what I had signed up for being the ‘home setter-upper’. This task included, but was certainly not limited to: painting (which turned out to be the entire place!), organizing, folding, buying miscellaneous items, organizing, folding. . . did I say organizing and folding?

Paint cans

A little color to brighten up the other white walls!   photo 2 (2)

My husband and I had felt pretty good about the amount of ‘stuff’ we were bringing with us to New York. While we both had some separation anxiety with items we left behind (or forced each other to get rid of), we headed east convinced that we really didn’t have that much. After move in day I decided I needed to meet a minimalist and have them impart their knowledge and organizational skills on me.

Our clothing pile kept growing with each day I put things away. It was like those fall days when you go out, breaking your back to rake up all the leaves you can, only to come out three hours later to discover that while your pile was still there, nice and neat, a pile twice the size had manifested itself in red, orange and yellow scattered angrily across your yard. Yes angrily, because really how else do you describe something that won’t go away, that even though it’s inanimate, you want to scream at it to get its act together – angrily.

The kitchen is something I really couldn’t quite understand, and I am convinced that my husband snuck in items that I had specifically said ‘no’ to. We had just gotten married! Thanks to our wonderful friends and family we had a whole new kitchen practically. That meant that all of our old college life dishes we had collected over the years could finally be passed on to the next generation of starving college students. Apparently my husband is a big nostalgic?

Bedroom                                  photo 3 (1)

People kept telling me that months would go by and there would still be things you discovered you needed to do or to get for our new place. I thought, “psh no way. We are organized and on top of this, we’ll have this down in two weeks max!” Oh so young and naive. Here I am, almost a month post move, and two other furniture pieces have just been delivered. We still have two more things coming (hopefully within the next week, fingers crossed). We have almost finished putting up the new blinds we bought – which, let me say here that if you ever buy blinds, paying the Home Depot guy the extra $180 will be money well spent – and at some point this week we will mount our TV on the wall (now that we have a couch we can properly get the height the TV should be at). So. . . yeah. . . did I say two weeks? I’m sure I meant two months.

As stressful and mind boggling as this whole situation has been, I must admit that I am finally starting to feel at home – at least while I am in my apartment. I can honestly say that I did not think that would happen, or at least not for quite awhile ( six months minimum), but this apartment is becoming my happy place in the city.

Now if it could only fit my piano. . . oh well, a simple place to truly call ‘home’ is a great start.


From Snow Globe to City Streets – the beginning

Turn over a snow globe, twist the music knob, twist and watch the magic. A perfect world encapsulated within a small dome of glass. Every detail visible and protected. Impenetrable to any outside force. You gaze as your mind wanders, soothed by the music softly emanating from a tiny rotating box. Snow gently wanders down, settling on a street, a house, a lamppost – anywhere it can find a home. For most of my life, it felt like one of those flakes fell on me every time the globe turned.

Welcome to PC

In 1990, at only 4-years-old, I moved to a magical place called Park City. I remember the first day it snowed – daddy taught me how to make a snow angel, definitely one of the greatest things EVER! I grew up through the wild white winters and perfectly temperate summers and found myself lucky enough to attend college in state where my Greatest Snow on Earth© and mountains were never far. College ended and I wended my way back to those mountains, teaching in their schools, exploring their trails, watching them grow. If told I would live there for the rest of my life, I would feign hesitation but then say, ‘OK’ – Life was good.

Then came September 17, 2013 – A day that will live in my memory forever. That little girl, who spent all of her life in those mountains, taking in its fresh air, soaking up every ray, every powder turn, finds herself somewhere she only ever saw in the movies. Sure I had visited, been the textbook tourist at the Statue of Liberty, Broadway, Times Square – but a permanent resident? Fuggedaboutit!


A snow globe is only temporary. Eventually the music stops. Sure you can wind it up again and get lost in its music and magic, but the music can’t continue forever. That first snow globe will always be there, resting on its shelf ready for its next turn, for its music to play as its snow softly falls – but everyone who has ever owned a snow globe knows you can never just be entranced by one – the music box needs a separate harmony, a new tune all its own.


Looks like my new snow globe is shaped like an Apple. . . is this really where dreams are made of?