An odd kind of normal

Nineteen years ago, our regular day was interrupted by news of a plane crashing into a World Trade Center tower.  I've blogged about this before, including how close Thing One was when a second plane followed the first.

Usually we're busy starting the school year, getting to know our students and settling back into our routines.  And Thing One and I are quietly remembering what happened, observing but not really observing it.  It's also Thing Four's birthday, and for several years we had a semi-subdued nibbles'n'drinks to celebrate the start of the year and the seriousness of the day, as well as another year around the sun for him.

Today, thanks to the Woodward book and The Atlantic's article and the craziness of the political season, the memorial and all the seriousness was overshadowed. It was "just another day", going to work with a mask on, staying six feet away from my colleagues, and getting my second COVID test (we're getting tested weekly). It felt like an odd kind of normal to not have to remember the sound of bodies hitting the sidewalk, or feeling the towers collapse, or how eerie my subway ride home was.  

Next year, twenty years on, will be very different.  But for now, it's kind of nice to have it be just another day. 

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