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In this issue:
Leaving on a jet plane — tomorrow
Ways to observe today’s anniversary
Scenes from coming attractions
The desire and the dread
I am looking forward to going east tomorrow, seeing my family and saying a proper goodbye to my father who died in January of Covid. I am not, however, looking forward to the flight I will have to take to get there.
I used to love flying. My dad was a small plane pilot and he took me up with him often during my teenage years. He flew out of a small regional airport in Whitefield, NH. He liked to say that the plane was a smart business decision; it allowed him to cover much more territory to meet with customers of the family furniture business than he could cover by car. Most of us knew that this was an elaborate justification for finding a way to do something he’d always wanted to do: fly.
There wasn’t, for example, any business reason for him to take me up in the plane one spring Saturday and bounce around in the buffeting currents of Tuckerman’s Ravine where we could see skiers hiking in for the one long run they’d take in the remaining spring snows. There were no customers waiting for us another time when he invited me to fly with him to Bedford, MA where we got out, looked around, had a sandwich, and flew home.
And I’m sure that there were plenty who would have found it questionable when he let me take the controls from the co-pilot seat and practice coming in and out of power-on and power-off stalls which are exactly what they sound like: moments when the plane stalls in mid-air.
For seconds, the engine noise of the little Piper Cherokee (later a Cessna) would pause. We’d sink, heading for what seemed like a few seconds to be an inevitable crash a few thousand feet below. Then, a quick adjustment leveled us out and the engine would restart.
I loved it. The invulnerability of youth, I suppose. How bad could it be? My dad was right there. He knew what to do.
I’m thinking about this now because as I get closer to going back east in September for his delayed memorial service, I’m remembering moments like these. I’m also dreading getting on the much larger commercial plane that will ferry me home to say goodbye.
I’ve lost whatever sense of invulnerability I possessed at sixteen. What once gave me joy now looms like an ordeal. There are nightmare stories involving fist fights, duct tape, and people who tear off masks. There are stories about overbooked flights that leave scores of travelers stranded at the check-in counters. Hurricanes and other weather disasters loom. There is always, surrounding everything, the spectre of the Delta variant of Covid 19 which I expect to be exposed to but do not want to bring into the houses of my loved ones.
When my father introduced me to flying, he showed me a world that was beautiful, precarious, and required the ability to respond to sudden changes in conditions. He showed me that world again when he developed dementia, then again when he died of Covid. I can’t imagine there is a person in the world right now that is not feeling more than a little terror about what is happening all around us. There have been times in the past few years, when I’ve felt that same sinking feeling I felt in his Cessna all those years ago, as if the engine that was keeping me aloft has suddenly failed.
I’ve learned new lessons every day on how to respond to changing conditions. My family has been a source of light and love and this is one reason I am desperate to go. I hoped that this trip would mean hugging my mother, my sisters, my brothers, my dad’s wife, and old friends who have been through so much these past two years. Now I know that the trip home that I’ve been looking forward to for months will require masking, testing, distancing, and more patience and kindness than I’m generally known for. I’m going to try to adapt with grace beginning tomorrow when I get on that plane. I will try to remember that the world is still precarious but it is also still, at times, beautiful.
September 11th
By the time this newsletter arrives in your inbox, you will have read a lot about the 20-year anniversary, a date that is burned into our memories forever. Chances are you will be remembering where you were and what you were doing when the planes hit the towers, the Pentagon, or went down into a field in Somerset County, PA. You might even be among the men and women who enlisted in the military right afterwards or the spouse/girlfriend/boyfriend/mother/father/sibling of someone who did. Or, you might be among the Muslim families and those mistaken for Muslims who were targeted with hate and violence. And still are.
The fallout from 9/11 continues 20 years later. I can offer no new words, no new insights. When I look to the future, I am not sure what we can hope for. It seems more useful to look for ways we can honor the passing of all those lives and the altered futures that resulted for those who survived. I will share a few here. If you know of others, please share them in the comments.
Remember and honor
Visit the 9/11 Memorial and Museum raonline. There, you will find the names of every person killed in the attack on the two towers, and oral histories recorded by survivors, the families of those who didn’t survive, and those who responded to help. This link to online resources allows us to remember and learn online.
Support veterans and their families
Support Iraq and Afghanistan Veterans of America (IAVA), an organization that connects veterans with service and community support, and advocates for veterans with lawmakers. Here is a link that lays out the top six priorities of IAVA and here is a direct link to donate.
The Wounded Warrior Project serves veterans coping with injuries both visible and invisible.
Support Wounded Warriors Family Support, an organization that provides practical and emotional support for families of those wounded, injured, or killed during combat operations. This organization is completely separate from the Wounded Warrior Project.
Veterans Matter helps veterans out of homelessness.
American Humane trains and equips service dogs for veterans who suffer from PTSD and traumatic brain injury.
Seek out the stories of Muslim-Americans
Learn
In his book We Are All Suspects Now Tram Nguyen reveals the human cost of the domestic war on terror and examines the impact of post-9/11 policies on people targeted because of immigration status, nationality, and religion. Nguyen tells the stories of a 20,000 person exodus from Brooklyn’s “Little Pakistan” and through interviews with families, detainees, local leaders, community advocates, and others living on the front lines--tells the stories of people who witnessed and experienced firsthand the unjust detainment or deportation of family members, friends, and neighbors.
Laugh
Huda Fahmy is a cartoonist and writer who told NPR she was “adamant to prove I was just like everybody else. I called my hijab a scarf when it was so much more than that.” She found herself insisting she wasn’t hot in her hijab in the hottest of temperatures just to “show them I wasn’t oppressed. But now…I refuse to let societal predisposition control me. The fear and intimidation I used to feel now strengthens me.” A cartoonist, she uses her sense of humor and her art in the comic series, Yes I’m Hot In This, that has since become the book Yes I’m Hot in This. She is also the author of That Can Be Arranged: A Muslim Love Story, and the YA novel scheduled for launch next month, Huda F Are You?
Listen
Stories remain bottled up until someone thinks to ask the right questions. Here are two projects that sought to ask the right questions so we can hear the rich and very different stories of many Muslim Americans all over the country and in Brooklyn, New York.
Muslims in America: A New Generation (NPR special series)
Muslims in Brooklyn, interviews and oral histories with members of the Muslim community from the Center for Brooklyn History.
Coming soon
I will be out of town for the next two Saturdays but that doesn’t mean you will be Spark-less. You’ll be treated to something I’ve been wanting to do for a long time: a guest essay by an author I love and whose book helped me at a critical time in my life. Tanya Ward-Goodman, author of the memoir, Leaving Tinkertown will share a memory and a lesson gleaned from her daughter and her father as both prepared to leave her. Also on the docket: A “Writer’s Dog Interview” (with a CAT), and enough reading material to keep you going until I get back.
If you haven’t already, check out our Writer’s Dog Interviews: The Insta-Edition. You’ll find a gallery of highlights and Instagram slide shows of all our interviews with the four-legged assistants to some wonderful writers. Just click below and check ‘em all out.
Before I go, welcome to all you new subscribers. It’s great to have you here. If you’re still looking for more to read, check out the books in the Spark Community Recommendations Page at bookshop.org. You’ll find the books mentioned in the newsletter there and you’ll be supporting independent bookstores. Any commission I earn on the sales will be used to support literacy programs selected by the community.
And everyone: we are all in dire need of Zen moments. Check out what we’re doing below and send us whatever makes you think/laugh/sigh/breathe. You’ll be amazed at the karma that comes back to you.
Ciao for now.
Gratefully,
Betsy
P.S. And now, your moment of Zen…a bird’s eye view of its beautiful and precarious world
There is a moment in this short video that caught the back of my throat. The baby chick leaps into the air and flutters towards the water below. “Dad follows right behind him, reassuringly calling to his chick,” says the British narrator.
Calling for Your Contribution to “Moment of Zen”
What is YOUR moment of Zen? Send me your photos, a video, a drawing, a song, a poem, or anything with a visual that moved you, thrilled you, calmed you. Or just cracked you up. This feature is wide open for your own personal interpretation.
Come on, go through your photos, your memories or just keep your eyes and ears to the ground and then share. Send your photos/links, etc. to me by replying to this email or simply by sending to: elizabethmarro@substack.com. The main guidelines are probably already obvious: don’t hurt anyone -- don’t send anything that violates the privacy of someone you love or even someone you hate, don’t send anything divisive, or aimed at disparaging others. Our Zen moments are to help us connect, to bond, to learn, to wonder, to share -- to escape the world for a little bit and return refreshed.
I can’t wait to see what you send!
(And if you’ve gotten here, liked something, and still haven’t hit the heart below, now’s your chance! )
What great memories you have of your dad and flying. They mirror mine. We had a little 2 seater, tail dragger airplane and our weekends were filled with flying from one airport to another, eating breakfast and lunch along the way. I loved flying for many years until I didn't anymore and this was way before 9/11. I finally flew again in 2013 but it took hypnosis to be able to fly again. I'm still an uneasy flyer, but I do it because I want to go places and see things and live my life. My brother was also a small airplane pilot and unfortunately he died in January 2021 from Covid. We had to delay his service because of Covid and even then I was unable to travel to it because I wasn't vaccinated yet and I didn't want to take any unnecessary chances. It's hard still every day. I'm sorry to read about your dad. :(
I’m so sorry to read about your dad. He sounded like a terrific man.
We just flew out East to attend a wedding. There were no problems at all. I think the media hypes the bad things, and the good things outweigh it, but that is not what they want to report on sadly. Safe travels ❤️