Moments
It seems to me that there are indelible moments in our lives. Moments that resonate within the fiber of our being for as long as we’re alive and change something fundamental about the way we view our world. Moments that we’ll always remember in detail - where we were, what we were doing, and how we felt when we first heard/saw/witnessed whatever it was that happened. And it seems that these moments, which are often, but not always, tragic, become touchstones for a generation. These are moments like the bombing of Pearl Harbor, the assassinations of the Kennedys and Martin Luther King, Jr., the lunar landing, the shooting of Ronald Reagan, the Challenger space shuttle disaster, the Columbine massacre, the Oklahoma City bombing, 9/11, and so on. And now, especially for those of us who live in Tucson, we have another moment that will live within us forever. A moment when our view of our town was changed forever, and a politician’s attempt to reach out to the people was transformed by one misguided person’s misguided attempt to do whatever it was he was trying to do. And now several people, including a little girl, are dead, while others struggle to recover from the injuries they sustained. The whole thing is senseless to me, and as I listen to various people try to make sense of it, and witness their attempts to figure out the why’s and the how’s, my mind turns inward in order to insulate me from the reality that tries to crack through my protective shell of denial. This supermarket was only a couple of miles from my home. It’s an intimate part of my everyday world, and I pass through the intersection of Oracle and Ina each morning and each afternoon as I make my way to and from work. And now, this once-ordinary parking lot is cordoned off by crime scene tape and inhabited by law enforcement officials and media members, and my stomach churns as I take in the sight. Imagining what it must have been like on Saturday morning. The smell of gunpowder. The sound of screams. Blood on the asphalt. A senseless slaughter that accomplished nothing productive. A pointless act that did nothing but remind us all of how tenuous this whole thing actually is. Moments like this, I can do without.
On a Lighter Note
In my life, I’ve stared at the woman I love more than anything as she walked down the aisle to stand at my side, witnessed the birth of all three of my children, stood on the top of windswept mountains, struggled across marathon finish lines with my hands raised in victory (and helped many others across that line as a coach), crossed the plate for the game-winning run, walked off the final green with the lowest score in the tournament, given a speech at my parents’ fiftieth anniversary, sat back with a satisfied sigh on the last day of twenty-three (and counting) school years (as a teacher), slalomed down steep slopes of powder, negotiated rafts through rapids, and watched chunks of glacier slide into the sea, but all of these (okay, that’s an exaggeration – but it’s done for effect) pale in comparison to what happened this past Monday when I walked through the door at the end of the day. What to my wondering eyes should appear? A fully functional kitchen with a working stove, microwave, refrigerator, dishwasher, and sink. I immediately broke into my “Happy Kitchen Dance” (thankfully, the only one there to witness this fiasco was Connor – and he already thinks I’m a pretty strange individual). After three months, several major setbacks, and more money than I want to think about, we have a kitchen that is not only beautiful and stylish, but that you can actually – wait for it – cook in. To celebrate, I boiled some water (on the stove) and made linguini, and that evening, Katie whipped up a batch of chocolate chip cookies (in the oven). And they tasted really, really good.
That’s all for now, so until next time, may you continue to do whatever it is you do that brings meaning to your life, helps make the world a better place, and allows you to move on after senseless tragedy strikes. Stay strong, Tucson.
