The Side of the Cereal Box

Ever since Steve Irwin’s death, Animal Planet has been showing as many Crocodile Hunter shows and specials as they can, and yesterday I found myself stopping on one for a while.

A team from the Australia Zoo along with some men from the Army were working on getting a croc moved to safety. She had been living in deplorable conditions: the pond she was living in was so filled with trash and carcasses and utter filth that she couldn’t even fully submerge under the water. She was teased and taunted by neighborhood kids for years. And she suffered not only the physical effects of this way of living, but the psychological effects, too.

And all these guys risked their lives to go in, grab her, haul her to the ocean where they could clean her up, get rid of the disease and filth, check her for injuries, and basically assess her needs, and then take her back to a new, clean enclosure at the zoo where she would be able to properly submerge and be taken care of.

And I found tears coming to my eyes as I thought, “Why don’t we do this for each other? For people?”

There are people out there living in deplorable conditions, in filth - both literal and figurative, who are suffering both physically and psychologically from surroundings they can’t escape from on their own. And going in after them might be dangerous, but they need help or else they’ll die that way. We should be the ones going in there, pulling them to safety, soothing their hurts, and offfering them hope for a better life. We should be the ones taking care of them, continuing to take care of them after their intitial rescue. That croc wouldn’t have survived if they had just pulled her out, cleaned her up, and then let her loose in the wild. She had scars that ran deeper than the surface, that needed prolonged care. And the folks at Australia Zoo will be taking care of her for the rest of her life. That’s how we should be.

And it especially hit me when Steve, the last one in the enclosure, encouraging the croc to go on into her new home, said (narrating), “I’ll protect her with my life, with my body, with everything I have. I love her.”

An example to live by.

Well, I’m a day later putting it up than I’d hoped, but even yesterday would have been late, so… here goes nothin’.

“We Will Never Forget: 9/11″

And the world stood in stunned silence
as no one dared to breathe
The loss was opressive
the terror, real
the heartbreak, supreme
Whispers carried news on the wing to a disbelieving nation
They flocked to their radios, TVs, and computers for information
but found no reason
They turned to each other, and found little comfort
They looked to God, and were ashamed
they had forgotten Him,
but He remembered them,
He was waiting,
He was willing,
He was there before it,
He went through it,
And He will still be here when they forget again,
…waiting for them to remember.

Written 3/25/2002 @ 12:05am

It’s been 5 years since that dreaded day, and of course, once more (as on every anniversary since then), I’m remembered “where I was” that day. Here’s my story; feel free to share yours:

I had class first thing that morning (music major at ISU). My usual routine was to get up early and get ready quietly (since my roommates, inevitably, did not have class as early as I did). So I hadn’t had the TV or even a radio on all morning.

I was sitting in FA 309 with a few other students, waiting for class to start when the off-campus students started trickling in with news:

“Have you guys heard about the World Trade Center?”

“What?”

“I heard on the radio that a plane hit the World Trade Center.”

“I heard a plane hit the Pentagon.”

Amidst our confusion, our teacher entered, ignored all the import of the news, and conducted class as usual.

My next class was (MIDI basics) was in a computer lab, so I (along with several of my classmates) rushed downstairs to check the internet for news before class started. I hopped onto MSN.com and saw a story that only increased my confusion: the WTC had, indeed, been hit by a plane, and one of the towers had collapsed. What?

As before, our teacher ignored the shocking news break and went on with class as usual. (Can you believe it?!)

After class, with no recital scheduled that day, I began walking back to my dorm room, but saw a crowd of people pushing their way into the campus computer lab, and decided to see what was going on. Their eyes were glued to a TV mounted in the corner of the lounge area. It was showing footage of the tower collapsing. …Make that the second tower collapsing. It had happened just minutes before.

I had never heard the campus so quiet, or felt it so tense. The students were shocked, dazed, afraid, confused. It seemed impossible to be seeing what we were seeing unfold. When I returned to my dorm, I found the floor eerily silent except for the buzz of news coverage - every TV on the floor was on and every door was open. Every room I walked by, the girls were sitting on their beds, hands to their mouths, staring at the TV screen, eyes wide with disbelief. My roommate (who was from Japan) was just gathering up to rush to class; she, too, had been caught up in the horrific story and could manage no more than a “hi” as she handed me the remote, a figurative baton in a gruesome marathon of terror. I sat for a long while watching the coverage, though not much “new” news was being covered (apart from the sickeningly stupid gas price jump - which freaked out all those “away from home” students in the dorms). After a while, I began to hear conversations floating down the halls as girls began calling their families, some just to “check in” (desperate to feel connected during a rather frightening ordeal) and some to honestly see if their loved ones were still alive (some girls had friends or family members going to, coming back from, or in and around New York at the time - especially fathers, away on business). I called my dad to “check in”. It was a quiet conversation with many pauses. Neither of us really had anything to say. It was just that “connection” thing.

No one I know was hurt or had any loved ones hurt or killed in the attacks. But the campus was in a daze for a long while after that. I remember picking up a copy of the Statesman the next day (which I still have); it was chock full of stories and interviews, poetry and artwork, and on the back, an American flag. These flags were displayed in nearly every window of every dorm on campus for the rest of the year. The flag became the new and unofficial symbol of 9/11 - a reminder that “freedom don’t come free”, a symbol of sacrifice, courage, valor, honor, hope and sorrow mingled. The passion and fire of the American spirit came alive again that day, a phoenix rising from the ashes of 220-stories-worth of rubble and countless international lives. (It’s important not to forget that either.) The rage we felt as a nation was fueled into music, art, and action. It was, and still is, an amazing thing to witness.

If I can find it this evening, I’ll post the poem I wrote after 9/11.

Well, I’ve been a homeowner for a month.

…Wild, isn’t it?

Minnie’s adjusted alright. She’s actually quite calm when I’m the only one around. And so far she hasn’t chewd up anything she’s not supposed to while I’ve been at work. (One exception: she got into the trash - prior to when I had a trash can - and licked the chocolate off all the candy wrappers that were in there.) She’s been very good about staying in the yard (so long as we’re out back), but I have to pick her up to get her back in the house (she doesn’t like the stairs).

I’m planning on having a “housewarming party” (of sorts) sometime soon so that I can invite my neighbors over and get to know them better. I’ve talked briefly with a few of them, but it would be nice to be on more than “nod-hello” terms. It also looks like I’ll be having church at my house this Sunday for the first time. (I think they’re mostly coming because Yats is nearby!) I think I’ve got enough chairs, but I don’t really have any toys for the kids (who will probably be constrained to my bedroom as a playroom). What I really wish is that I could get lights and wall art hung before Sunday. That way there wouldn’t be wires dangling from the ceiling, boxed lamps on the floor, and Target bags leaned up against the wall. It’d be nice to have end tables, too… Hm.

I get the distinct impression that I’m never going to be “done” with my house…