BOOK NOTES by Joan Ruddiman: Thinking beyond the moment proves to be difficult.
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It has been hard to concentrate. The "to do" list is not just put on hold, it is forgotten. Though life goes on, no more so than in school where kids need the stability of routine, thinking beyond the moment proves to be difficult.
No matter what else has happened in the last weeks, we are frozen at that Tuesday when the world changed.
The only words that seem to express what we feel are words that convey our inability in comprehending the reality. Words like "surreal" and "unfathomable" capture our helplessness in trying to comprehend, intellectually, and accept, emotionally, the scope of the horror.
We are numbed by the loss of lives, and the tragedy of each individual loss. So many men and women and their great promise lost. Their short lives crammed with accomplishments, evidence of all that was to come. So many with young families, so many with so many who loved them, left behind.
Yet amazingly there is a "yet" in all this we rise up from despair wrought by evil, the numbness kneaded by all that is good in humanity.
We take comfort in memorial services that are celebrations of lives well lived on this earth, no matter how short. It is an honor to witness every ethnicity, every faith Jew and Muslim, Buddhist and Christians of all ilk worship together in a Catholic mass, in a Pentecostal service, as celebrations of life lost but never to be forgotten.
We take comfort in candlelight vigils held throughout our country, throughout the world. People join together to pray, to "God Bless America" to offer resolve to live life united against those who threaten to destroy life indiscriminately.
We take comfort in the image of our president who removes his shoes and covers his head as he prays with Muslims in the Islamic tradition that celebrates peace and the brotherhood of all humans.
We take comfort in and are awed by the heroics of the everyday heroes. Firefighters are our freedom fighters as they refuse to falter in the face of mass destruction.
We take comfort in old-fashioned concepts. Newspapers print full-page color flags and report on spontaneous singing of "God Bless America," speculating that this is the new national anthem. Our own red, white and blue is worn, waved, displayed everywhere.
We take comfort in praying openly. We share amazing stories of heroism and survival and openly acknowledge that these are God’s miracles.
We take comfort in reaching out to neighbors, in the true sense of that term that "all people are our neighbors." We are concerned that racial intolerance will rear its ugly head, and take comfort that those who uphold our laws take time to investigate reports of hate crimes.
We take comfort in helping others. The blood banks, Red Cross, United Way, Catholic Charities and like agencies are processing an outpouring of donations.
We take comfort that in our numbed grief, we move forward with purposeful resolve. Tractor-trailers are filled with specific requests. Money is funneled to specific agencies. We are efficient, exhibiting the "can-do" spirit we’ve long heard about from grandparents and in the history of our forebearers. We, this "melting pot," this "salad bowl" of diversity, are a people united in support of our country.
The pundits have discussed the nature of the terrorists. They express amazement that many of them lived in this country, were of the "blue jeans and beer" generation, and yet could act so ruthlessly against the United States.
These zealots, the terrorists among us, thought they knew America. However, they failed to look deeply enough. The "sleeping giant" that they’ve stirred is America’s soul awakening.
On that Tuesday, congress sang on the steps of the capital. The president addressed the nation from the Oval Office.
Within days, "Wall Street" re-opened on Wall Street.
Kids went to school, parents to work even back to New York. People got on planes, went shopping, invested in a queasy stock market, played ball. Bloodied but not bowed, America went on.
Dickens’s famous line beginning the "Tale of Two Cities" reads, "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times."
We take comfort that in our worst of times, the best of America shines through.
Joan Ruddiman is a teacher and a friend of the library.

