I would not have had the heart to go through with
attending the Nationals in Delaware had it not been an opportunity to see
my parents as well. The WTC and the plume were visible from my backyard.
My violin player was trapped south of Canal Street without much food,
water, or friendship. Pain and fear everywhere.
On the way down Friday morning I had to go through the checkpoint at
the Henry Hudson Bridge, the car being searched by officers with drawn
weapons. Returning, the view of lower Manhattan from the NJ Turnpike.
And yet while in Delaware, it became unreal. In New York, we were
gathering in synogogues, parks, wherever and people just couldn't stop
crying. The first thing you established with everyone was thier "separation" - did they lose family? friend? friend of family? friend of friend?
Down in Delaware people went around thier business but with flags.
A woman stood in a busy intersection the rain with a poster "Lights On
For NY". And as much as I appreciated the thoughts, the atmosphere
was so detached. What does turning my headlights on accomplish?
Anyway, on Sunday my beat up used car of a 1941 Plymouth was parked
next to Ele Chesney's 1941 that is probably the best one in the world. Quite
a contrast. She kindly let me take photo after photo to help me in my
work. And she told me which brand and shade of nail polish does the
best at putting the red striping back onto the chrome. So Gus has now
made it as far south as Maryland.
