Remembering...

I read an article today about remembering our soldiers, those who have died protecting us in war, and I might have just moved on except for a picture that touched me to my core.

Mary McHugh lay across the grave of her fallen fiance, James Regan, and wept, talked, gestured with her hands, wept some more. James went to Duke University. He had lots of opportunities to do anything he wanted. He felt he needed to do this. "If he didn't, then who would?"

Arlington National Cemetery, and thousands across our United States, are filled with men and women who protected us and died doing it. This one picture hit me hard today. We've all loved and lost. We're truly in this together. And the men and women who are honestly brave enough to go 'over there' and face the enemy for us, knowing full well every day it could be the last, and whose only joy each day is remembering those back home that they love and hope to come back to.

It sobered me up today about our freedoms. And how every one of those guys wanted to come home again to set their feet on the grass they know and love, to spend summers at the beach with their girls and kids and families. We get to to that today. Let's send up a little thank you to them. Love never dies, nor fades, and it's powerful enough to change anything. Thank you for the love, guys.

Empire State of Mind

There's an old New York joke about Shakespeare in the Park; Central Park, that is. Hamlet is being performed. During the death scene, the entire audience leaves. They didn't want to get involved.

This is from an article I read on aol news today. It talked about how New Yorkers have the reputation of being hard, not wanting to get involved, and yet under that crusty exterior beats hearts of caring, shiny gold for their world and fellow street neighbors, no matter if they're from Brooklyn or Kansas.

The last line told of how, after 9/11, President Bush told American to go to Disneyworld, take the kids and enjoy life the way Americans should. The writer told how THAT was the spirit of NY. Stand up, shake off the bad stuff and move on with today.

I could write twenty novels about the things I love of New York. It's home to me, more so than the little Virginia town I live in, and I think lots of people feel that. From the moment I get off the Amtrak and ride the escalator up into Penn Station, I feel like I'm reborn. Every single time.

I will never forget a little older lady I encountered in Little Italy. She was keeping the gift shop on a little street (probably around the corner from Lombardi's, my favorite restaurant on this earth, no matter where else I eat in my life) and she seemed so sad. My friend and I walked in, the sole shoppers that quiet night, and within a few moments she brightened up like sunshine and I knew we had brought a true ray of joy to her soul, for whatever reason. Maybe just our kindness. She even gave us a free disposable camera, telling us in her Italian tongue with American words that we should enjoy this last day and take pictures of everything! To be given a free something in New York, in a gift shop? That's amazing enough. :D But her spirit rose that night. To me, that is the spirit of New York. I always get misty thinking of her.

Okay, this was off the writing subject, but after the attempted destruction of a part of my, our, beloved Times Square this past week? I wanted to give my beloved NY a hug. My body's here, but a huge part of my heart is and always will be there.

I might just write some novels about this. New York has a million stories, and mine is now one of those. My cup runneth over. :)