the roof
september eleventh two thousand six
and we are getting a new roof installed this week.
three men on the roof
bang
bang
banging
interrupting the peace while I watch CNN's original nine eleven coverage on the pipeline -
the only thing I can think of to do to commemorate the morning.
(and i rationalize that i didn't really live through the original coverage the first time anyway
i was in the shower and then in the home office early that day, emailing my clients
-- mostly in new york can you imagine? i still shudder --
about things ridiculously mundane and insignificant).
the early news on that morning is also ridiculously mundane and insignificant
and amazing all at once.
there is max mayfield worrying about evacuation route chaos and speculating when the "big hurricane" might hit.
a now unknown CNN correspondent is covering fashion week, interviewing maternity wear designer Liz Lange as i sit at my desk feeling the unborn daughter inside kicking to make her presence known.
(an unborn child who, as with my first child, will never know life the
way it was before that day. does it matter)?
Nokia stock is trading strongly before the opening bell but eight forty eight approaches in the lower right corner of my laptop, the future of the history as unstoppable as the commercial jet on a horrible mission.
the CNN coverage appears almost quaint in the lens of history looking backwards.
how could there be so much confusion and misreporting during a day the timeline of which we all know every nauseating detail? (thank you nine eleven commission).
bang
bang
bang.
a piece of faded tar paper flutters lazily to earth outside my dining room window dancing in the september breeze against a sunny cloudless blue sky.
on the pipeline thousands of pieces of paper fall like quiet snow, blanketing lower manhattan in a shroud of paper
business cards.
credit card bills.
customer invoices.
personal effects.
even aaron brown has no words as the second tower falls.
bang
bang
bang
the roofers are laughing
sharing a joke I can't hear as
roof debris rains down outside my dining room window.
faded tar paper.
worn out shingles.
rotted out boards from 1820.
the roof of a house built before the civil war now witness to a war on terror.
two centuries of september elevenths.
and we are getting a new roof installed this week.
three men on the roof
bang
bang
banging
interrupting the peace while I watch CNN's original nine eleven coverage on the pipeline -
the only thing I can think of to do to commemorate the morning.
(and i rationalize that i didn't really live through the original coverage the first time anyway
i was in the shower and then in the home office early that day, emailing my clients
-- mostly in new york can you imagine? i still shudder --
about things ridiculously mundane and insignificant).
the early news on that morning is also ridiculously mundane and insignificant
and amazing all at once.
there is max mayfield worrying about evacuation route chaos and speculating when the "big hurricane" might hit.
a now unknown CNN correspondent is covering fashion week, interviewing maternity wear designer Liz Lange as i sit at my desk feeling the unborn daughter inside kicking to make her presence known.
(an unborn child who, as with my first child, will never know life the
way it was before that day. does it matter)?
Nokia stock is trading strongly before the opening bell but eight forty eight approaches in the lower right corner of my laptop, the future of the history as unstoppable as the commercial jet on a horrible mission.
the CNN coverage appears almost quaint in the lens of history looking backwards.
how could there be so much confusion and misreporting during a day the timeline of which we all know every nauseating detail? (thank you nine eleven commission).
bang
bang
bang.
a piece of faded tar paper flutters lazily to earth outside my dining room window dancing in the september breeze against a sunny cloudless blue sky.
on the pipeline thousands of pieces of paper fall like quiet snow, blanketing lower manhattan in a shroud of paper
business cards.
credit card bills.
customer invoices.
personal effects.
even aaron brown has no words as the second tower falls.
bang
bang
bang
the roofers are laughing
sharing a joke I can't hear as
roof debris rains down outside my dining room window.
faded tar paper.
worn out shingles.
rotted out boards from 1820.
the roof of a house built before the civil war now witness to a war on terror.
two centuries of september elevenths.
posted by Martha Who? | 7:14 PM
1 Comments:
Beautiful.
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