I thought I would be writing a post today about September 11, about how we recognized it in our family by gathering with those we love, by sharing a meal and launching our little cooking club with our first-ever meeting.
Instead, I stayed curled up under the covers, watching When Harry Met Sally and NFL games, occasionally tearing up over "The Star Spangled Banner" or a particularly touching rendition of "Taps."
This cold that seems to never end managed to come at a rather inconvenient time, right before an all-expense paid business trip to Destin. Even though I managed to take the trip anyway, I know I wasn't at the top of my game, wasn't fully aware of my surroundings. Instead I found myself often searching for the nearest hotel alcove where I could politely blow my nose in solitude.
Then on Saturday, sitting in bed at home, I realized I wouldn't be able to host our cooking club on Sunday afternoon, wouldn't be able to set tables out doors in this beautiful weather, wouldn't be able to use pretty gingham napkins or fill mason jars with lemonade. And for a moment, I shed a couple of tears, threw myself a pity party, moaned a little to myself about how this "always happens," how the events I plan for myself on the calendar seem to occur on the exact few days of the year when I come down with some malady or another.
I was disappointed and was equally disappointed on Sunday. I had wanted so badly to commemorate that tragic, awful day by doing something I loved, by celebrating my life and the people in it. I had wanted to eat and laugh and talk and pray, and instead? I felt too tired to do any of that, only finding comfort in the fact that I was perhaps semi-celebrating New York by at least watching a quintessentially New York film -- "Too much pepper in my parikash," anyone?
Sometimes, I put too much pressure on this life. I forget that real life isn't always about relaxing dinner parties and gingham tablecloths and lemonade in mason jars. Real life sometimes consists of slowing down, canceling plans, and drinking lots of water. I had my pity party on Saturday, but I'm pleased to report that it was short-lived. The fact is, I've been too busy lately, and I know my body was just reminding me that this life experiences all kinds of seasons: busy and slow, celebratory and mundane. My stuffy nose and dizzy head and scratchy throat all were reminders that sometimes, you just have to give up. For a few days, you just have to sleep in and watch movies and let dirty dishes gather on your nightstand.
Because, as we all know, this too will pass. And tomorrow I may wake up feeling perfectly fine, ready, once again, to tackle my to-do lists and life's events. But not today. Not this past weekend. And that's okay. It doesn't make me a failure, and it doesn't mean I won't have more opportunities to celebrate, to throw parties and share dinners with friends.
So, for now, I'm resting. And I'm honoring those who lost their lives 10 years ago by continuing to live and love my own, one celebratory and mundane moment at a time.