Ha! And here you thought I was going to post once and then vanish again for another month! Ha! O ye of little faith. (I thought so too, that’ll teach both of us then.)
Last year I didn’t post anything here on September 11th either; a few days later I blogged something called - 33 - and then let it slip from mind. I just read it again today. Without actually saying much about how I felt it draws pretty precisely how I feel, then and now. Most sadness tempers into strength, once it’s been bent over itself and hammered down for a year or two, and looking backward starts to feel more like a nod to a place I once was than a tether to a stone in the heart.
Don’t worry about those clanging noises you hear, just a little extra smelting for good measure.
This year I listened to the annual reading of the names of the dead, which for the first time didn’t feel healthy — maybe we’re over that particular inward catharsis at last. It put me to my annual 9/11 weep undisirregardless. I passed the rest of the day Not Doing My Taxes, which is a hobby of mine.
By night I strapped on the snowshoes, tied down the pith helmet, took a home reading with the sextant, and set out to try my camera hand at the Tribute in Light memorial. The shoot was pretty successful. It’s probably some of my most consistent work, and I’m pleased to find that I can now think of my photos as a body of work, rather than a bunch of snaps that happen to be lined up in a row. There are 23 images in the final photo set, which I recommend. Today one of the pictures was the featured shot in the Utata.Org photoblog, which I’ve occasionally written stuff in, and last week big ol’ love-to-hate-’em Gothamist, flagship of the -ist blog fleet, ran another, so I guess I’m famous and all.
Best random sentence I ran across today and had nothing to do with: The girl who ratted me out is still a vacuous tramp in my book. You tell ‘em, honey.