| Primary Day |
[Sep. 9th, 2003|11:10 am]
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As usual, my boss is off tending her political machine in the Bronx.
Two years ago, of course, she wasn't missed. Even claimed, to some, for a while, to have gotten here in time to be evacuated. In a pig's eye!
In a way, this feels more like the anniversary of those events than the solar return on Thursday. My own story of that day can still be read here. I hope I will be able to revise and expand my reflections before too long, but that is what there is so far, crude and distraught as it may be.
Again, we have been rehearsing the Troparion of the Cross in tone one, the first or second Russian chant to make an impression on me, as it opens the 1812 Overture and returns in the finale. (I think I knew tone six -- the Paschal Troparion -- in elementary school as a "Russian Folk Song" -- a very PC thing to call it.) This year, as last, our little chapel will not be behind police lines, and of course the San Gennaro feast will be going on with Dunk the Clown just outside the church door.
If you find yourself on Mulberry Street and our gate is open, drop by for a little (relative) quiet. We are just South of Houston, diagonally opposite the Puck building, and, need I say it, in cyberspace as well. |
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| Comments: |
Next time I am in the area (rarely) I will do just that. (Drop by.)
I like to stop in Churches, but often feel shy about doing so. Having an invitation, even if just by reading a journal, gives me courage.
Your account of the events brought tears to my eyes. It cetrainly didn't seem like a movie to me at the time, even if I was dealing with images from half a world away. | |
arisbe
