This week contained the most invisible 9/11 of the past seven years. It seemed to slip by without mention. Where were the moments of silence? The memorial services? Despite never having worn a ribbon for a cause in my life, I think I want a 9/11 ribbon, something to demonstrate visually that on that one day a year, we still remember and we still mourn. Even if the things we mourn are a lot more complicated than they were seven years ago.
Maybe because it’s that week and memories of disaster linger, I’m feeling really anxious about Ike. I keep flipping on the television for brief moments and then walking away from the nothing that is the news. Just a few minutes ago, I watched a clip on CNN and in the background, a woman in yellow was posing flirtatiously on the beach. I wanted the CNN reporter to run across and get her name, so that we’d know if she was on the list of the dead later. But even the thought seemed overly paranoid. Still, hanging out in Galveston right now seems like a really stupid choice.
My anxiety, of course, is translating into food. There’s a bowl of bread dough rising on the counter, and the house already smells of the beef stew I started an hour ago.