I guess the title for this section sounds hokey and soft, but it's the mood I'm in right now. I'm writing while at the squad building. The weekend has been busy, with duty for me and for Maureen yesterday. It has also included the third anniversary of the horrible day that affected just about everyone in this area, and really has affected the world.
On Friday, which is the date of both the beginning and ending of my book -- that is, the novel begins on 9/10/00 and ends exactly one year later -- Maureen and I enjoyed a pleasant evening at home, sitting on the patio enjoying the Indian summer weather, sipping drinks and chatting about everything in the light of Citronella candles.
Yesterday I attended the memorial service for a friend's father. He died in Ireland about six weeks ago after having caught a salmon. I consider it such a perfectly Irish way to die. My friend and her family seem to be handling it well, though I know it was not easy for them. (Is death ever easy?) Later that night, Maureen and I joined with the squad and fire department and police department on the village green for a candlelight service.
Today I saw a person who looks older than he should, whose life seems to be rolling away faster than the commercials he watched on television. Yet, outside the sun is shining, the sky is blue and life seems perfect. I hope that such beauty is not missed or forgotten.
Sometimes I think that after a spat of rain, when the sun comes out again it's as though I've never seen it before -- as though it's better than any other day before it. I feel like a dog when the master of the house has returned: "Oh, joy, you're home! Come play with me, feed me and pet me and let me know again that you love me!"
Perhaps without the tragedies of 9/11/01 I wouldn't appreciate as much of the good in my life as I do, but I still don't understand why the lesson had to be so harsh and affect so many people. And it was such a beautiful day...
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