Posted in churches, country, family, God, spiritual, travel, writers

Whirlwind Adventure

2018-05-26 12.15.11

I promised all of you a blog post about my fantastic trip that I took with my brother, Richard Simon. We are only fifteen months apart in age, but over the years, we have ended up on opposite sides of the US. What a thrill to spend ten days with him.

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We covered four countries: Denmark, Sweden, Germany, and Austria.

Everyone has asked me what my favorite part was. That is really impossible to say since there were so many wonderful things; spending time with my brother must rank as number one.  Discovering family roots is high on the list, especially one very special find on our mother’s side in Sweden that dates back to the 1700’s. Sweden and Germany were our main focus since we were following our ancestral roots. But we managed two days in Copenhagen and one in Salzburg, Austria as well. As a Sound of Music fan, I gleefully embarrassed my brother singing Do Re Me on the steps and dancing around the Pegasus fountain.  And I almost got him to dance with me at the gazebo like Liesel and Rolf. Maybe that will be my next post.

Since keeping blog posts shorts is a must, I am going to stray from our roots for a moment. I discovered that I loved searching for old churches. I love the architecture, and reverent feeling I get when I am near them.  It is a shame that I heard that much of Europe do not actually use these churches very much.  We were blessed to be inside two that were obviously active. In a church in Bastad, Sweden,  we heard the organist practicing and singing How Great Though Art. And in Berkenfeld, Germany,  we were privileged to hear two young teenage girls practicing singing,  I have loved you for a thousand years.  Both in English.  

Let these pictures speak a thousand words.  Don’t be surprised if some of these end up in my novels.

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Posted in children, Christian, country, family, fiction, Merry Christmas, readers, thanks, womens fiction, writing

A Christmas Gift by Kerryn Reid

My friend,Kerryn Reed,  wrote this beautiful Christmas story and she is allowing me to share it with you. I know you will love it.

Kerryn Reed - A Christmas Story  Kerryn Reid Auriti in color

A CHRISTMAS GIFT

by Kerryn Reid

©2014

 

“Is it tonight, Mama? Please say it is!” Sadie jumped up and down, flapping her arms like a robin fledging in mid-winter.

Marian Barnett smiled for her daughter’s sake. Since she had married John and moved to Yorkshire, wassail nights had been gay occasions. They would collect in shifting little knots of friends and family on Christmas Eve and sometimes again for New Year’s Eve and Twelfth Night, laughing at the cold and each other’s antics. They ran to keep warm and sang very badly, yet the rich folk in their snug houses smiled, and provided hot punch for them all, and maybe some cakes, and often pressed pennies or ha’pennies into the children’s hands to be spent on toys or candy. Then the wassailers would run along to the next house to try their luck. And somewhere along the way she would fall into the snow with John, pressed close through all the layers of wool, kissing each other’s numbed lips before hurrying home to strip those layers off and fulfill the craving they’d begun outside, drunk on wassail and Christmas and the long life they would share.

John was gone close to a year now, saving their daughter from the icy swirling river. Sadie was no substitute for him, but she was all Marian had, and her little heart was set on her first time wassailing. It would be Marian’s only gift to her – any coins they received must be hoarded for bread and milk.

“When do we go, Mama? Why can’t we go now?” All morning long the questions came. Where Marian found the patience to answer calmly, she didn’t know. Finally, in the afternoon, she set aside the shirts she was sewing for Mrs. Wallace and lay down with the child. Once Sadie was asleep, she would get back to the work that brought in those few all-important shillings.

She woke up when Sadie clambered over her, humming a tune with some words thrown in. “And all the little children hmm hmmm go, love and joy hmm…” It had been a bright day, but a glance out the window showed the dusk already lowering its veil over the town. Marian sighed. She’d wasted the afternoon. Already it was time to get them both fed and dressed; John’s brother would be stopping for them soon enough.

Sadie jumped from the bench for the dozenth time and ran to the door. “It must be Uncle Peter, Mama!” But it wasn’t, it was no one at all, and the cold rushed in again to mock their little wood fire. Not that Marian could blame the child. Hungry though she must be, hard brown bread soaked in lukewarm broth could not be expected to keep her at table when there was such excitement in the offing.

Marian gave up the battle. Small meals meant small work to clean them up – in a few minutes it was done. As soon as she stepped from the kitchen corner, Sadie flew to her side. “Oh, Mama, can we go now? Is it time?”

“Not yet, my robin.” Marian scooped her up, nibbling at her neck until she wriggled with giggles. “But it’s time to put on all our warmest clothing so we’ll be ready when Uncle comes.” She sat the child on top of the shelves John had built so they were almost eye-to-eye.

Sadie stuck her feet out straight while Marian pushed on an extra pair of socks, and then another. “Will we go to the big house?”

“Lord Ryndale’s? I’m sure we will.” Who more likely to give away money, after all? And oh, how disgusting to think that way.

A miniature pair of trousers, borrowed from Peter’s little boy, went under Sadie’s skirts, the hems rolled up so she wouldn’t trip on them.

“How about the pastor?”

“Definitely.”

A second gown went on over the first, and Sadie crowed with laughter at the idea of wearing twodresses. “An’ the new fam’ly down the lane, with the baby?”

That was easy enough to guess. Aubrey was their name. Marian had seen them at church. She remembered one Sunday in particular when the pastor had prayed for John’s soul. “And for his widow, Marian. She came to us a stranger, yet she was his, and now she is ours.” And all those eyes turned her way and she tried not to cry, because most of them didn’t look very friendly at all. But Mrs. Aubrey stopped her after the service, took her hand and said how sorry she was. A nice lady, gentle and soft-spoken.

“Yes, I expect so. Now it’s time for your boots.” These were also borrowed. Marian squeezed them on over all the socks.

“Mama, they’re too tight!”

Afraid they would split apart, Marian took them off again and removed one sock from each little foot. “Better?”

“Mm hmm.” A borrowed jacket and a knitted cap, and Sadie was ready for the finishing touches when Peter arrived.

Marian lifted her down and started on her own layers. An extra pair of socks, and then her own boots; a skirt underneath her old gown; and then Peter was at the door with Jane and Tommy and some of the neighbors, stomping snow on her clean floor.

Peter swung his niece into the air. “Well, Sadie, are you ready for your grand adventure?”

Her shrieks filled the room with happiness. Marian ran over to them with Sadie’s cloak and mittens, and once they were donned, the group headed out into the near-darkness. She tore her own cloak down from its peg and followed, leaving behind her own hat and the tattered old pelisse she’d intended to wear under the cloak. Peter did not like to wait.

Seven-year-old Tommy swung a lantern, and one of the men had a torch. They were hardly necessary along the main street, with all the light shining from the windows. But the richest homes in town lay farther apart on the side roads, darker and less-traveled.

“Put me down, Uncle,” Sadie squealed again after the third house they visited, and this time he did. Tommy called her a plum pudding and everyone laughed, the description was so apt as she waddled down the street in all her layers. Sadie just grinned. Peter and Jane took one hand apiece and swung her between them until they reached the next house. After that she tottered along between Marian and Jane, then Marian carried her for a while.

By the time they arrived in the square they were sixpence richer. A bonfire had been laid for the evening festivities. The bells would ring and the children would parade around the square with drums or makeshift instruments, making “music” to welcome the Christ child. But that was not ‘til eight o’clock.

The group headed out toward Lord Ryndale’s estate beyond the edge of town, paying their luck-visits at the houses along the way. Marian’s arms and shoulders ached. Who would think a half-starved four-year-old could weigh so much? The effort helped keep her warm, though already she couldn’t feel her feet.

She made Sadie walk and the two of them fell behind, reaching “the big house” as the rest of the group left it. Peter looked surprised when they passed on the big gravel drive. “You just getting here, then? They have good cakes inside. Best hurry, Sadie, before they’re gone.”

“You go on ahead,” Marian said. “We’ll catch up.”

“No, no. We’ll wait.” He did not sound happy about it. The others had not noticed her at all, and he watched after them as they passed on through the grand gate to the lane, talking and laughing. His feet remained rooted to the gravel, but the rest of him seemed to stretch out to follow.

Marian pressed her lips tight. “Go on. We’re fine.” Peter seemed to blame her, somehow, for John’s death. But even before that, he had never liked her much.

He didn’t even look at her. “If you’re sure,” he said, and was gone, may he rot. John had been worth a dozen Peters.

Sadie got a penny and a little Yule cake. “Mmm. It’s good, Mama.” But most of it crumbled into the snow as she ate it. Marian rejected the wassail bowl so they could catch up with the rest, but took her own cake for Sadie to eat later, carefully wrapped in a cloth.

They did not catch up. Marian carried Sadie, but it wasn’t long before she felt her arms would fall off. Thank God, the lights of the town shone clearer now, individual windows pricking out of the darkness ahead. Focused on those, she tripped in a rut and fell to her knees in the frozen lane.

If only she could warm herself, she could manage the walk home. But Sadie, plopping down on her mama’s thighs like a sack of potatoes, made it impossible even to stand up. Hard to believe this night had ever been fun.

“Sadie, love, you must get off.”

“I want to go home, Mama.” She did not cry, but her voice wavered with the threat of tears.

Oh God, so did she! “We will, sweetling, we will. But first I must get up.” She had never felt less graceful, her bottom in the air as she shoved off the ground with her hands. But she managed. “And next, we must visit this house.” It stood just steps away, all lit up, the gate standing open in welcome. Light meant warmth, and some hot liquor in her belly would work wonders.

They were halfway up the walk before she realized it was the Aubreys’ house. Not that it mattered; she would ask only a few extra minutes by the fire beyond the usual wassail offerings, and she would expect that much compassion from anyone.

A footman opened the door, tall and lean – no, he wore no livery. It was Mr. Aubrey himself. At least, she thought it was. “Merry Christmas,” he said, looking out beyond her shoulder to see how many followed her. Not many went wassailing alone.

“And to you, sir.” Curtsies were difficult, Marian found, on legs frozen stiff. “I fear I’m out of breath, or we would sing for you.” Thank goodness she had some excuse! Singing was beyond her capabilities at that moment.

“I’ll sing, Mama,” Sadie said from knee level. “Wish you a merry Kissmas, wish you a merry Kissmas, an’ a happy new year!” It was not very tuneful, but she ended with a shout and a flourish of her hand, and Mr. Aubrey applauded and laughed.

“Do come in, both of you. We leave shortly to watch the celebration in the square, but you are here in time for some punch.” He led the way into the parlor. It was not as grand as Lord Ryndale’s, yet her whole cottage might fit three times into this room. But she hardly even noticed, because of the fire. She could not afford enough wood to keep such a fire alive for three days!

The contrast in temperature made Marian shudder. Oh, it felt wonderful! Regardless of how it must look, she crossed directly to the fireplace, pulled off her mittens and held her hands out toward the flames.

While Mr. Aubrey gave Sadie a cup and a biscuit, his wife came to her with a glass of punch. Their fingers touched as Marian took her glass, and Mrs. Aubrey exclaimed, “Why, your hands are like ice! Please, sit down here and take as long as you need to warm yourself. And your daughter, too. Come here, little one.” She nestled Sadie beside Marian in the big chair.

“Oh, ma’am, bless you for this. We fell behind the others, and Sadie’s so swaddled she can hardly walk.”

“An’ Mama too,” Sadie said. “She falled down.”

“Oh dear. Yes, I see your skirts are wet.”

Marian looked down, appalled to think she might soil Mrs. Aubrey’s floor. “I’m so sorry, ma’am.” She started to her feet, but her hostess put a hand on her shoulder and pressed her firmly back down before seating herself in an adjacent chair.

“Don’t worry about that, please.” Smoky-blue eyes peered into Marian’s own. “I know you, don’t I? Was it not your husband who…” With a glance at Sadie, Mrs. Aubrey changed what she’d been about to say. “…Who saved your little girl? Such a hero. And a soldier too, was he not? I don’t recall the name, I’m afraid.”

“John Barnett, ma’am. And mine is Marian.” It was a struggle to get her own name out of her mouth. Dear God, she hadn’t cried in months. But with the cold, and the wishing, and the sympathy in Mrs. Aubrey’s pretty face… She choked on her tears, and a fancy embroidered handkerchief appeared in her hand. She hated to use the thing, but it would be worse not to.

“I am Anna Aubrey. I think the pastor said you’re not from these parts? I’m a “foreigner”, too, all the way from Bristol. Isn’t it funny, how Yorkshire folk think of us that way, as if we weren’t all English?”

Marian didn’t find it funny at all, but she supposed a beautiful woman with a wealthy husband and a fine home would always receive a warmer welcome than she had found. “I’m from Exeter, ma’am. My John was stationed there with his regiment.”

Sadie had been leaning heavy against Marian’s side, sleepy with the warmth as Marian was herself. But she pushed away and slipped down to the floor. “Don’t you have a baby, ma’am? Where is it?”

“My husband will bring her downstairs any minute. We’re taking her to the town square for the parade, unless we’re too late.”

Marian scooted forward and stood, still stiff and clumsy. She discovered that her knee hurt. “I’m afraid we’re keeping you, ma’am. I thank you, ever so much…”

Mr. Aubrey returned to the room carrying the prettiest babe Marian had ever seen, plump and healthy-looking, perhaps a year in age. A maid accompanied them carrying outdoor garments for the child. Sadie waddled over for a closer look, cooing and chattering to the wide-eyed infant.

Mrs. Aubrey smiled across the room at them, then turned back to Marian. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Barnett. And if you don’t mind being a little bit crowded, we will be pleased to take you in the carriage back to the square, or to your home if you prefer.”

Did the woman not realize how far beneath her Marian was? “I could not ask you to…”

“But you didn’t, did you,” Mrs. Aubrey said. “So that’s settled.”

Though the drive took less than ten minutes, Sadie was asleep when they reached town. Kind as they were, Marian had no desire to show these gentry-folk where she lived. But still less did she want to walk there carrying Sadie. In fact, she didn’t think she could. Depending on darkness to hide the worst, she let them drive her home. They would never see the interior, at least.

Yet somehow, when they arrived, it happened. Mr. Aubrey took the child from her as they descended from the carriage. That was natural enough.

But when she reached out to take Sadie, he said, “No, let me carry her for you.” And then, in response to her protest, “It’s no trouble at all, ma’am.”

She had no choice but to open the door to the dark room, only a bit warmer than the outdoors. He said something over his shoulder to the footman on the box beside the coachman, and he took a lantern from its hook on the carriage and lit the way in.

Marian closed her eyes against the light and the embarrassment. Then she led the way to the bed and lit the candle beside it.

His manners were excellent. He said nothing about the place. She could not even tell that he inspected it. But for all that, she felt tension coming off him as he lay Sadie gently down and stood to his full height. His head bumped against the naked beam.

“I’m so sorry,” she said.

He ignored the apology, yet his voice was rough. He sounded angry. “Have you enough wood, ma’am? Where is your extra supply?”

Dazed and shivering, she answered him. He jerked his head toward the footman, who went out the door and turned to go where she had indicated.

“And food; what about food? Tomorrow is Christmas.”

“We sup tomorrow with my husband’s brother. We have enough.” Her voice cracked with the jumble of emotions roiling inside her. Anger of her own, humiliation, grief for John, fear of the long future without him, all played their part.

“I shall be back in a moment,” he said. The footman passed him in the doorway with an armload of wood. He added several small logs to the fire, working it until it blazed with warmth.

“Thank you,” she said, but he was not finished. He went back out for another load, and then another.

It was not Mr. Aubrey who returned, but his wife. She cast a brief glance around the room, then came to stand a foot in front of Marian. They were much the same height.

“I have a proposition, Mrs. Barnett.”

Marian fidgeted with the ties on her cloak.

“Have you ever been in service?”

Marian shook her head. “No, ma’am.”

“It doesn’t matter. We need a maid, and I like you. Will you come to us?”

Marian blinked, shook her head again. “I can’t leave my daughter.”

Mrs. Aubrey’s eyes widened in shock. “Of course not! The two of you will share a room.”

Oh, this was foreign territory. “I don’t know how to be a maid, ma’am.”

“You can learn as you go along. We’ll sit down and discuss your duties with the housekeeper. We can begin with small things, and you will grow into the job. Can you come now?”

Marian jumped at that. She had to try twice to get any sound out. “Now, ma’am?” Her voice rose to a squeak.

“I suppose that is rather abrupt. My husband tells me you dine with family tomorrow?”

Marian nodded.

“The day after, then. We’ll send the carriage for you at one o’clock? And perhaps a waggon, in case you have trunks or other large items. Will that suit?”

Marian nodded again. She stared like a stupid oaf, unsure if she should trust her eyes and ears. Could this be happening? Perhaps she had died out there in the cold, and the woman before her was Heaven’s angel come for her? She looked angelic enough. But the sweet, gentle creature she’d talked with earlier had developed a will of iron, and Marian could no more refuse her than she could fly. And why should she?

Fear, that’s why. Not knowing what to do, what to expect. What would be expected of her.

But it was a chance, better than any other she was likely to receive. A Christmas gift, for herself and for Sadie. Food, fire, and clothes that fit. Shoes, too. A place to belong.

Mrs. Aubrey pulled off her glove and put out her hand. “Do we have a deal, Mrs. Barnett?”

Marian gazed at that soft white hand for a moment, then she slipped hers into it, rough and brown. She felt a grin form on her face, though her eyes were wet with tears.

“A deal, Mrs. Aubrey.”

Posted in books, characters, country, love, novels, romance, sci-fi, writers

Ever want to dance in the Outback? Let S.E Gilchrist take you there.

Sue Gilchrist

Hi Joanne. Thank you so much for hosting me on your blog today. I’m a big fan of Florida, having visited my brother and sister-in-law in the Keys a few times. I hope to get back there someday and do more touring of the US.

A little about me: I’m Australian, live in the beautiful Hunter Valley of NSW and have three wonderful children in their twenties and two dogs. I love bushwalking, kayaking, swimming and am interested in the environment, astronomy/science and animal welfare.

Writing has long been a passion for me, borne from an insatiable love of reading and books.  I also love sci fi, history and fantasy/mythology and longed to read a book which combined both romance and these elements.  So I guess it was a natural progression to end up writing a story that I’d always wanted to read.  In January 2009 I experienced a bit of an epiphany. I decided either take my writing seriously or stop doodling with bits and pieces of stories. I took it seriously, joined writing organizations, attended writing seminars, workshops and bought bookshelves of how-to books.

After starting a couple of contemporary romances, I put them to one side and began a sci fi / space opera romance. This book ended up being 100k words and took around two and a half years to finish. I wrote my first ever love / sex scene in this book, it was my first single title and garnered me my first placement in a writing contest. Legend Beyond the Stars came third in the RWAustralia Emerald Contest in 2011. I also received an awful lot of rejections with this story when I started to submit, I shelved it for a while and went onto write other stories. I re-visited it in July 2012 and did a re-write. That version was then accepted by Escape Publishing (a digital imprint of Harlequin Australia) in September 2012 and was e-published in January 2013.

Since that time, I’ve had two short stories published with Escape Publishing (both continuing on in the Darkon Warriors series), a post-apocalyptic, erotic short story published by Momentum Moonlight (a digital imprint of Pan MacMillan Australia). I’ve also indie published two erotic novellas, both pre-medieval novels with a touch of magic set in Ancient Britain. I’ve recently been awarded a contract for my second, sci fi single title of the Darkon Warriors series, Star Pirate’s Justice, and given a release date of February 2014.

In late October, I indie published my first contemporary rural, Australian romance, Dance in the Outback. I will also indie publish in November a short erotic novella, Storm of Fire, set in a post apocalyptic world.

Dance-in-the-Outback--8.9.13 (2)

As you can see, I don’t restrict my writing to any particular genre. My stories are written in either third person or first person but I’ve never tackled present tense and can’t see myself doing so. The individual stories and the characters tend to dictate the heat levels (hot to sweet / sensual) and also from which perspective I write. I dread writing a synopsis and endure editing. My usual pattern is to start with an idea and then the characters come to me. I’ll write about three chapters, while the time the story is percolating inside my head. Then I sit down and write an outline of the external storyline, do detailed character sheets and GMC’s. I always know how I want the book to end before I start.

For anyone starting on their first manuscript, I recommend join a writing organisation, undertake courses or if dollars are tight, borrow how-to books from your library. I can’t stress how important it is to find like-minded people; I’ve made some wonderful friends through my writing. They’ve provided motivation, inspiration and support and I believe my road to publication would have been a lot longer, and certainly a lot less fun, if I’d never met them.

Thank you very much for joining me here today. I’d like to leave with a short blurb about my current release and an extract which I hope you’ll enjoy.

BLURB: Years ago Melanie Black was rescued from a burning house by her best mate and fellow foster child. When he begs for help, she can’t refuse. Melanie takes off to an Outback cattle station to supervise his children, while her friend and his wife use a second honeymoon to rekindle their romance. Out here, there isn’t a mall in sight. It’s hot and swarms with flies and yet, her soul tells her she has finally come home.

Station owner, Dirk Tanner, can’t believe his eyes when his brother-in-law’s ‘friend’ alights from the plane. She’s far too pretty, distracting and has brought pampered pets with her! Then he recognises her as the do-gooder who gave his ex-wife advice on ‘living her own life’. No way will he allow Melanie to meddle in his sister’s affairs too.

Both soon realize pre-conceptions can be wrong and a near brush with death reveals their true feelings for one another. But will this newly forged love be strong enough to overcome their painful pasts? Or will Melanie’s dream of belonging be reduced to ashes.

Extract from Dance in the Outback © S. E. Gilchrist 2013

Frowning, Dirk stroked his chin as he stared out over the parched land that stretched endlessly to the horizon, paying no attention to the awkward silence that had fallen over their small group. Bloody hell, I’ve still got those fences to check not to mention the homestead bore. He shot an exasperated glance up at the sun now beginning its descent.

“Aunty Melanie, over here,” hollered Tammy in such a high voice she could have been auditioning at the Sydney Opera House.

A dozing black cockatoo rose shrieking from its perch on a large mulga tree beside the runway. The huge bird flapped his long glistening, black wings and circled above their heads displaying the brilliant crimson-red feathers of his under tail.

The mutt in the dog carrier yapped hysterically.

Startled from his ruminations about what could be causing the bore’s engine to misstep and his ears ringing from the racket, Dirk swung back towards the plane.

The pilot was handing down the few steps of the plane, a young woman who exuded an aura of warmth and gentle energy. Dirk noted with disbelief the fatuous look on Tom’s face and the faint noises of encouragement he made to the woman as if she attempted a hazardous climb from the summit of Mount Kosciusko.

Dirk couldn’t blame the young pilot for his obvious interest. Even from this distance, Dirk could see how shapely her legs were beneath the short skirt of her buttery yellow sun-dress fluttering in a teasing dance against her thighs.

His hands fisted involuntarily and he heaved a resigned sigh as Tammy danced off again.

The woman raised her head and directed a sunny smile towards them before turning away.

Unease prickled along the length of Dirk’s spine.

Something about her…no, he must be mistaken. He was certain he’d never met the ‘family friend’ before.

The woman spoke to Tom who then began to enthusiastically haul more luggage from the interior of the plane. Tammy reached her and the woman scooped the young girl into a big hug. Then, hand-in-hand they strolled across the red dirt, faces turned towards each other, chatting as if they had all the time in the world.

“Catherine, how lovely to see you again. And there’s my darling Anabelle,” the woman called out. Her voice as thick and smooth as treacle slid over Dirk’s senses. “Tammy, be a sweetheart and let poor Muffin out of her carrier before she becomes traumatised.”

“Okay, Aunty Melanie.” Tammy ran off to fumble with the latch of the dog carrier.

An unearthly yowl split the air. “Oh poor Mister Gibbs,” crooned the woman bending down. The movement caused her honey blond curls to bounce and glow in the bright sunlight.

With an effort, Dirk wrenched his stare onto the box she carried; another animal carrier.

For the love of…not another pampered pet. My dogs are going to go ape-shit. Dirk directed an irritated glare at the woman. Their eyes met and all the air wheezed from his lungs as he received the shock of his life.

Her.

He stood and gaped, vaguely aware his sister was introducing the ‘family friend’ but the words flowed over him like the background noise of waves on a beach. All he could think of was the last time he’d seen this woman.

Sure, it had been years ago but he’d never forgotten that day — the day that had marked the end of his marriage.

Thank you Suzanne, for your interesting promo of Dance of the Outback and your other works.  Readers,  here are the links for you to buy her books, I know you will want to jump right on that.

LINKS:
Website – http://www.segilchrist.com

Amazon – http://www.amazon.com/S-E-Gilchrist/e/B009F6LGXA
Twitter – @SEGilchrist1
Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/SEGilchrist
F2F writing group – http://hunterromancewriters.wordpress.com/

Posted in 2001, 9-11, country, family, love, remember, thanks

Where were you on Sept. 11, 2001?

 

911

 

Today is a day or remembrance. A day to remember the people who lost their lives to senseless violence.  Where were you when the towers were hit, the pentagon, the crash in the field in Shanksville, PA?   I was at home, waiting for my husband to get home so we could take our huge 100 lb Labrador to the vet. When he rushed through the door and said, “turn on the TV”, I could not believe what I saw. I called to my father, “Dad, we are under attack!” What? It sounded like some horror movie, it didn’t even look real.

The second hit
The second hit

We were at the vet’s by the time the Pentagon was hit and we watched from their tiny TV in the waiting room as we saw the towers collapse.

The Pentagon is hit.
The Pentagon is hit.

Then there was Shanksville.

Flight 93, crashed in Shanksville, PA
Flight 93, crashed in Shanksville, PA

I had a hard time moving passed that day. For two years I could not get on a plane. Just seeing one overhead made me duck, as if that would do any good. I am not ashamed that I had to get some help.  The terrorists had done what they set out to do – to terrify.  The innocent killings were shameful.  It makes me angry that they could cause such turmoil in   my personal life. I did not even know anyone that was killed.  But my rose-colored glasses came off that day.   Never again will I feel that we are invulnerable.  I had never known fear a single day in my life until September 11, 2001.  Now I live with it every day.

the innocent
the innocent and the brave

I know a lot of my readers are from other countries. I would like to know what it was like for you? Was it big news? Did it rattle you?  I don’t believe in being political on my site so I will not share my feelings about what is going on in the middle east today (every day – every month – every year).  I only know the innocent killing is not what God would want, no  matter what name you call Him (or Her) or what divine power you believe in.

I love my country so much. It is not perfect. It is made up of people – and people will never be perfect. But on this day, I am going to give thanks for my country, my military, my first responders, my every-day workers that keep our country moving. And I will remember – the fallen, the injured, the forgotten.

plane approaching the World Trade Center
plane approaching the World Trade Center

I think today must be the same feeling my parents got on Pearl Harbor Day. I heard it, but I never understood it – until September 11th.

Share you story. Where you were, What were your thoughts? Have they changed in twelve years?

9-11  NEVER FORGET

911 pentagon with flag