An Oral History

I subscribe to a periodic email newsletter from Mental Floss, and on a day home sick from work, while I was cleaning out my inbox, I came across a message in which Mangesh, one of the founders of the magazine and website, shared some of his 9/11 stories. From his name, it sounds like he "ain't from around here." I think that really means that he may have a far keener appreciation of this country than many of us who are of European descent. Whether or not that's true, he included a link to a short piece at StoryCorps, an oral history site.

Go and listen to John Vigiano tell about his sons, New York City firefighter John Jr. and New York City policeman Joe. His story will both break your heart and put a smile on your face.

September 11th has been on my mind a great deal lately. I was beyond disappointed in the news coverage from the major news outlets, especially since so much attention, on that day, was paid to the proposed Islamic Center near Ground Zero and to the Florida Koran-burning-that-wasn't. On that day, of all days, we needed to remember what happened in 2001. We needed to remember how we weren't Southerners or New Englanders or Midwesterners right after that day. We weren't black or red or white or yellow. We were just Americans. United in grief, in loss, in anger, in outrage.

I don't speak for anyone but myself, but I'd like to be just an American again. I don't need any other label for the world to know me. I don't need to start a fight with anyone over it, but I'd love to finish one that anyone else starts. Give me a chance, and if I can, I'll help anyone who needs it.

And honestly, I hope that I speak for Mangesh from Mental Floss, as well as for John Vigiano. They both spoke for me.

Changing Homes

This morning, around 10:15, I drove back over to Greensboro to pay a visit to the old apartment. I had a step stool with me, so I could change out the few compact fluorescent bulbs we had installed for some inexpensive -- ok, cheap -- incandescent bulbs. Before I walked out of the first home Lisa and I shared, I took a last look around and whispered, "You served us well, thank you" to the walls that no longer held any reflection of our personalities. Then, I went by the complex office, turned in all our keys, and left without another glance back.

It's been an arduous task, this moving. It's not that far between Greensboro and High Point, not in physical distance. But, it's a world away, going from renting an apartment to owning a house. Not just financially, but mentally and philosophically.

After all, what does home really mean?

There are the cliches: Home is where the heart is. Home is where, when you show up, they have to take you in.

There's the thought that home is your place. There are many people who would die before giving up their piece of land.

For many others, home is wherever their family is.

I find truth in all of these. I had a time in my life when, between school and several part-time jobs, I was never at the apartment I lived in then. And when I was, my then wife wanted to go out, to eat, to shop, to visit her family. For a time, I was rootless.

By the time I really had a place to be, years and children later, I was losing that marriage. And after that, I had an apartment, joint legal custody of my children but only part-time physical custody, and so I was largely alone.

I found in my Lisa and in the apartment we lived in the last six years both the person and the place; I fully understand what home means to me. It's where the rhythms of shared lives come together. We learned the little things, where the smooth places were in the roads leading to the apartment, which restaurants had not only the good food but the good people who came to know us and always make us feel welcome, when the upstairs neighbors were going to be loud, when the maintenance staff would be mowing and blowing leaves onto our patio, when the garbage trucks would make pickups, when traffic would be favorable to our movements.

Now, it's time to learn all those things anew, in a new place. Our home.

Peaked At 5

Cammie King Conlon, age 76, passed away two days from lung cancer. She was billed as "Cammie King" when she portrayed Bonnie Blue Butler in Lisa's favorite movie, Gone With The Wind. And frankly, my dear, we do give a damn.

The Carolina Emperor

This emerald was found, in August 2009, near Hiddenite, NC:

It's called the Carolina Emperor, and it was 310 carats uncut. I had forgotten that North Carolina has such things to offer.