Moving On

  This was intended to be a simple announcement:  I HAVE A NEW TRAVELING COMPANION.  I traded in my almost 9-year old fire-engine red  Forester for a new "go green" Forester which meets the higher "partial zero emissions standard."   I don't know how something is partially zero, but it's supposed to be good for us.  End of post...Almost.

It doesn't seem all that long ago that I bought my "fire engine,"  but, as I reflected, much has happened.  It was October 2001, barely a month after that infamous 9-11-2001.   I was an assistant principal at an elementary school and in the principal's office after bus duty on that beautiful morning when the news announced that there had been some terrible accident of a plane colliding into one of the Twin Towers in NYC.  In disbelief, we watched as the second tower was hit, the buildings crumbled, and it became apparent we were under attack.  Not long after came news of the Pentagon being hit and rumors that other planes, including one in the air space above us, were headed to Washington.

As with other elementary schools, the children were not told what had happened, although they wondered why there was no recess and classes in the portables were relocated.  We informed the staff privately and individually, worrying with those who had spouses working in the Pentagon. Parents started pulling children from school. Teachers crowded into lounges to catch the news during breaks, but none left their posts.  Cafeteria duty became a special privilege that day as I looked into the faces of our future and realized I was guardian of America's most precious resource.  I did not worry about my parents, for I knew they were safe on their trip to western Pennsylvania, only to find out later, they were near the field where United Flight 93 crashed.  I had been called as a counselor in the Stake Relief Society Presidency for our church on 9-9-01.  We held our first presidency meeting with great solemnity on the evening of 9-11.  It was our Pearl Harbor.  The world had changed, and we wondered what lay ahead.

The skies were closed, and the world stood still.  Even when bans were lifted, few people traveled; airline ticket and car sales plummeted.  And so, out of patriotic duty (and need), I went and bought my patriotic red fire engine car .  My friend Pat and I ventured out of town on Columbus Day weekend through the Smoky Mountains of Tennessee to Asheville, North Carolina.  We toured the Vanderbilt's "American Castle" on the  Biltmore Estate (largest private home in America) and enjoyed their Michelmas celebration with St. George and the Dragon, et.al.

We visited a Cherokee settlement and museum and heard the sad tale of the Trail of Tears, when the tribe was forced out of their beautiful woodland home to a dusty reservation in Oklahoma.  We drove back through fall-colored Blue Ridge mountains where the horrors of the prior month seemed so far away.  While the car did most of the climbing, we did walk about 3 minutes to the peak of Mt. Mitchell, the tallest peak east of the Mississippi. We were jarred back to the present, as we heard of the invasion of Afghanistan during our return drive.

In those days, everything seemed more meaningful.  At school, the kindergarten children made a flag out of their handprints to take on the traditional trip to the fire station.  For Veterans Day, we created a Wall of Honor where children could write the names of relatives who had or were serving their country and held a patriotic assembly to honor the many military families in our community.  It was a time of unusual unity for this nation. My parents were still healthy then; Kari had recently married; my younger sister would still live several months before her passing;  the Salt Lake Winter Olympics would bring moments of joy and beauty; and I would soon visit my niece and her family who were living in Ankara, Turkey, for that notable year.

I was still using a film camera with limited zoom. The school had the new digital camera that took pictures of less than a megapixel on 3.5" floppy disks.  Few folks had the ability to scan or burn images at home.   Indeed, technology has changed for the better.  I hope you can look past the imperfections in the photos to the time of my new red car.

Perhaps when my new "green machine" has reached its prime, I will remember back to the recession and gulf oil spill. Perhaps.


Click link for slideshow:
Red Car Days (9-11)
Music: Alan Jackson, Where Were You When the World Stopped Turning?, The Very Best of Alan Jackson