September 11th

On the eight year anniversary of that solemn day… it seemed, in many ways, as if it had been much longer since September 11, 2001.
Everything had been so quiet.
The sky had been so clear.

Over at the house, Puck ran up to the front door, and then paused to look at the moon.
“Momma, reach it?” he asked, stretching out his arm to the sky. “Reach it?”
Then he went inside to tell his grandma where Linnea had been all that week.
“Lila’s at big puddle,” he said.
(A two year-old’s concept of the ocean.)

Then it was off to the DMV for Collette, to change the address on her license, which took about ten minutes, if that. Surprisingly.
The DMV was an interesting little place: one wall lined with old black and white photographs of little schools and old school supervisors in the area. On the other wall sat two vending machines, fully stocked with brightly colored drinks and bags of chips. And a sad little line of shabby green plants separated the vehicle license registration waiting line from the drivers license waiting line. A horseshoe hung over the door. And window valances, probably untouched since the ’80’s or ’90’s.

In the afternoon, while Puck napped, Collette and Carrie shopped for the twins’ birthday party, at least attempted to do so. It wasn’t easy thinking of presents for one year-old girls.
And then to search for pieces to add to Carrie’s professional wardrobe.

That evening, OLeif split for Henry Eight’s house for a pancake dinner and Sunday School discussion while Collette folded laundry and watched Ronald Reagan in Million Dollar Baby.