Stephen and I are spending the day watching all 14 hours of Rick Burns' "New York" documentary in honor of the city. It's an inspiring documentary that gives you a sense of just how many times New York has been laid low and struggled to its feet again--from the Revolutionary War, to the Draft Riots, to the 1970's.
One thing I (re)learned from September 11, 2001, is the pain caused by attachment--in this case, to a building, a place. I loved the towers. Stephen and I would sit on the Brooklyn Promenade at night and look at the always-different pattern of lights in the windows; I oriented myself by them when I wandered around Manhattan. Last night, the Towers of Light installation was re-lit, and it shocked me to see something--anything--in their space again. We might walk to the Jersey City Promenade tonight to see the Towers of Light, but I'm not sure; maybe we'll light incense for the people who died instead.
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