It was a balmy 68 degrees in Central Park when I came back from my run to dress for the day. I had an important appointment to possibly be the new Clairol girl, that at 8 a.m. had no idea was not meant to be.
I’ve written many times about the day as I lived it, so won’t repeat myself, but what’s happening in Afghanistan has brought back too much for me, especially…
the bones of those who did nothing but go to work that fateful morning.
As I confessed to two of my most faithful readers, Skinny and Anne, forever humbling me by their attendance, penning posts packed with anything but upset has become difficult, and though excelling at the ridiculous, feel guilty when I do, the news becoming my nemesis.
The last thing I am is an expert on foreign policy.
To me that means how good the food should be on Air France, but even I can’t understand how anyone could underestimate the evilness of the Taliban who rival Al-Qaeda after what they did on September 11, 2001. ![]()
Because it was 20 years ago, is it all but forgotten?
Not for me it isn’t.
What happened in Kabul at the hands of the same devils, resurrects that horrific Tuesday when the world, as we all knew it, changed forever.
I remember the panic and the smells, the smoke you could see miles uptown.
My neighbor running down Madison Avenue white as wax because her daughter worked near one of the towers and she couldn’t get her on the phone.
My friend Helene and I standing in line for hours to give blood no one would need.
Yeah, my memory doesn’t fail me when it comes to that day.
The rare time I visit the memorial, and it’s rare because seeing people parade around like it’s an exhibit at Epcot upsets me.
To see a family from the midwest or Athens eating panini with large lattes where bodies were stacked after the decision was made to jump rather than burn to death, doesn’t sit well.
I get angry when it’s referred to as suicide.
No it wasn’t. It was a conscious choice and the last one individuals on their own sad behalf made after leaving a farewell on their loved one’s voicemail.
Can you imagine?
I still weep for them, humility taking many, many curtain calls that will never be enough.
Where Afghanistan is concerned, and I’m no Biden basher still believing the best in him, could there have been another way to leave that troubled country?
Did it have to be so abrupt?
To sell short a demonic group who have no respect for human life as we New Yorkers so painfully experienced, I know unequivocally, was a mistake.
I see the eyes of those children ![]()
along with our soldiers ![]()
and the 2,996 Americans who died on that balmy, beautiful Tuesday.
Lest we forget…it should never be forgotten.
A Patriot to the last. ![]()
