Curriculum Night

Busy, busy, busy tonite.  It's Curriculum Night at the school; I have to sit through two different programs, one for each kid.  A quick visit with each teacher, a little dog-and-pony show with the Parent-Teacher Council and the Principal.  It's a bit of a joke, really: they don't use textbooks until fourth grade, but I have to attend a separate program for my kindergartner.

I'm getting a headache just thinking about it; I don't think there's a thing they'll tell me I don't already know or haven't heard in the previous four years.  All the parents will be there to visit with friends with whom they socialize regularly, chattering away through all the presentations; I don't move in the same circles since I'm bussing my kids in from another school. I don't dare not attend, though, because of the Lego League project.

That'll be me in the back, bored and ignored, wishing I could get away with cracking open a book.  No relief pitcher, either, since hubby is out of town all week.

Save me two ibuprofen.  Please.

5:44:17 PM    comment []

It seems long ago and yesterday. 

My headphones bother me; they’re fuzzy, scratchy.  I can’t hear the team members who’ve called in from Europe but faintly; the Asians I hear not at all.  Most of the folks in the US sound fine, though; they're sprinkled about the southeast and midwest, a lone west coaster sleepily joining us.

I change my headphones.  These are better anyhow; they have a mute button to keep the sound of my keyboard from annoying other meeting attendees.

There’s nothing more to type; I lean back in my chair to watch the Today Show as I wait for something important to develop in the meeting that might need my attention.

Katie Couric’s face is pinched and puzzled; there’s some chatter about a commuter plane crashing into the World Trade Center.  They cut away to view the scene, a smallish-looking hole and a small puff of smoke mar the surface of the building.

The meeting breaks up, a little light chatter continuing in the background as we begin to drop off the teleconference.  I click the mute button, say my good-byes.

The second plane appears on the television screen and flies into the second tower just as I ring off.

Oh my God.

Did that leave my mouth, before I pressed the button?  What in the hell is going on?  Did anyone in my team see that too?  My stomach turns, my heart beats faster.

I pick up the line again quickly, to see any one was still on the line.  Buzzing.  They’re gone.  No one on the line any more.

---

All my life I’ve heard people older than me tell me they remember where they were when they learned John Kennedy had been shot.  They remember the smallest details – this one was shopping, another in school doing math, one driving along to a specific destination.

How did these little things get imprinted indelibly and why is it so important? I would wonder.

Now I know.

10:33:34 AM    comment []