I'm being led to watch some anniversaries of things that happened to me thirteen years ago and the present year. It has been with growing fascination and delight that I'm watching this pattern unfold and in this story, I'm writing about the 11th of September - or 9/11, as it is commonly known these days.
Thirteen years ago, 9/11 was one year after the airplane trauma that hit the US, killing thousands and holding the world suspended in disbelief, while watching the events play out over several hours. That year before, 2001, I was alone all day, except for a quick run to a post office to post some packages to people in the US, at which time I heard the news on the car radio and ran back home to sit glued to the tv for the rest of the day. I had lived for a little over a year, in a little cottage in a foreign country, England, in a tiny village surrounded by fields, but still felt like a stranger, like I didn't belong. I only left the tv that day to make the school run to pick up my three girls who were luckily, still all at the same school. Other parents reached out to me with comments of shock, as I ran through, eager to touch an American at such a time.
I discovered the next year - and for five more years after that - that I would encounter something on the anniversary of that horrifying day, that held elements of 9/11/01, but with diminishing negatives and growing delights. For example, on the sixth year after 9/11/01, the large flying machine I saw that day was a huge swan blocking both lanes of the little road, near my house, which runs between two small lakes. I was the only one who dared to get out of the car at the head of a lengthening queue both ways, to shoo the stationary, majestic white bird along, which it meekly did. I also had two encounters with policemen that made me happy and showed they can be in place at times, to prevent or deal with danger as it erupts.
The 11th of September, 13 years ago, found me in a very different place than my isolated country cottage. I had received an invitation to a workshop in London, out of the blue, from an unknown organisation and to this day I still have no idea how they got my name, nor have I ever received such a thing again. It was for a hands on training of a healing technique, over three days in September and I got a green light to attend, even though it was all very expensive. With the cost of the course, the train to get there and back, the hotel and food in London, it cost close to £800 altogether. When I arrived at my cheap hotel to check in, I was told my room had flooded and sent by taxi to a sister hotel which turned out to be a beautiful boutique hotel with all kinds of amenities not found in the one I'd booked, no extra charge. The second day of the course fell on 11 September and so I found myself in a class of about 10 people, being taught by two Americans who had flown over from Virginia. We were being shown techniques of healing various ailments and then disrobing and smearing olive oil all over each other in different ways. It struck me suddenly that, rather than being alone - today I was with two Americans, even though we were still in a foreign country, outside the US. When I went to dinner, alone in a restaurant, I happened to sit near two American businessmen who were telling each other domestic stories about their kid's high school football games and wive's decorating plans. After dinner, I wandered empty streets, until I found an open coffee shop where, after buying a hot chocolate, I plunked myself down at the otherwise empty chairs and tables out front. A couple of men entered the shop, greeting me as they went in and then returning to sit near me and initiating conversation with me (this is very unusual in UK). So it wasn't surprising to find out they were also Americans, who sold aeronautic software to the airline industry. I'd somehow ended up being surrounded, all day, with friendly, pragmatic Americans, concerned mainly with normal, simple things of life. As opposed to being isolated the year before, watching such people being battered to death by some middle-eastern types.
I finally made my way to my upgraded deluxe hotel room, which was a delight but I didn't feel I belonged in and yes, thought long on all the little same but turned around strands throughout the day, which reflected in some ways, the events of the year before. Americans, being in England, airplanes, people in a city, but also healings, simple domestic concerns, changes for the better, exotic city life rather than isolated country cottage.
It was with growing curiosity that I've watched 9/11 approach this year, 13 years later, to see what would happen. It hasn't been a date that has registered as anything special or different, for some years now, but because of what has been going on the rest of the year, I knew it would be this time.
It brought me to London again. I have not been to a course, nor even heard of one, for some years, that I'd want to attend. However, my 22 year old daughter, recent graduate from a university in Oregon, had just spent over 2 weeks with me and was now planning to return to Oregon in a few days to look for a job and new life there. As she was flying out of Heathrow, I took her to stay with my other daughter, who now lives near the airport, a few days beforehand and as 11 September fell on a Friday and everyone else needed to be at work, it was just Erica and I who set off for a day in London. The only thing I had an idea of doing, was to go to a special Shoe exhibit, I'd heard about some months earlier, with my shoe loving, artsy daughter, at the Victoria & Albert museum.
That morning, we slowly got up from the floor we'd slept on in a tiny flat in Maidenhead, still on the Thames, but outside of London. We found our way to a cheap parking lot we'd been directed to, which became even cheaper after 10 am and having arrived at 9:58, this was a sweet treat to start off the day. We only waited 5 minutes for the train and after a 40 minute ride, arrived at Platform 11, at 11 am, in Paddington Station. Having recently seen the movie Paddington Bear, I was especially curious about my surroundings and kept a look out for lonely bears. Didn't see any but did manage to help an older lady with luggage, feeling quite young and frisky in comparison. This was compelling in itself as I've actually been ailing, often crippled, not able to travel much, for the most part of the last 5 years. My 22 year old daughter, who happens to have been born on the 22nd, and I, began to suspect we were in for a day marked by 11s and grinned in anticipation.
We went directly to the museums, via the Underground and stopped off at the Natural History museum, also featured in the Paddington Bear movie, but also to take an updated version of the photo, probably taken 11 years ago, of Erica, my triple earth sign daughter, in the cavernous room of rock exhibits. Then on to the V&A where I paid a good charge to see a lot of shoes, shuffling through a crowded exhibit. Erica and I went through, mainly independent of each other but we both noticed with some irritation, a group of four, small, middle-aged women who became noticeable with their space-blocking ways and then annoyance at bigger people they considered to be in their way. They probably reached my belly button but that didn't stop them from glaring up at me a couple of times, I noticed from my amused peripheral viewpoint. I often muse, when I encounter such, on how utterly incomprehensibly different, my whole life experience is, to someone of that size and temperament.
After a couple of hours of this, we moved on and began to seek food. Erica and I decided to give a miss to old standbys we've always attended before, such as Harrods, which is just down the road from the museums. I no longer like to go there, with all the changes the past few years the new Qatari owners have made, after buying it from the friendly Egyptian who'd owned it for many years before that. It has lost it's friendly, welcoming, fascinating, multiple facades and become a cold, slick altar to wealth beyond my comprehension or interest.
We decided to try and find a fun Mexican restaurant Katherine had taken us to in January. I didn't want to go back on the Underground so we hopped on a bus while I began to pore over my map to figure out how we would get to where I thought it was. We ended up on a route different from my usual bus runs and hopped off near Trafalgar Square, where we walked a few blocks to catch another bus - which happened to be, yes, you might guess, #11. On the way to the second bus, I noticed a big, corner building coming up, because the signs on it told us it was the National Bank of Egypt. As we were passing, I told my Egyptian-born daughter, that I might have even had an account with this bank, while living there and began reflecting on some of my life there. To our astonishment, we discovered, as we passed the corner towards the front entrance, that it was #11 on Waterloo St. We have a picture of Erica, my Egyptian baby, in front of a large 11 and window with Arabic script across it. There were three different routes I could have chosen to get to the next bus stop and I loved the way we somehow managed to pick this very one.
After this, we paused for a moment to struggle through the crowds in front of two soldiers, mounted on tall, majestic black horses at a place called Horse Guard, of course. The men stared straight ahead at all times, even as one of them constantly struggled to keep his anxious horse in place. The day was becoming perfect, skies blue, filled with interesting, white clouds, temperature lovely, neither too warm or cool, many people on the streets in good humour. Block after block of stunning architecture both modern and ancient, filled our view. Whenever I'm in London, more than any other place, I get overwhelmed with the number of people around me and the realisation that all these crowds, on the streets, filling the various buildings, packing the Underground and buses and constant taxis, are still just a tiny speck of what fills the world. Yes, overwhelm.
We catch the Liverpool Street #11 bus and as I pause to take a picture of the older style, rounded corners, red double-decker, the bus driver gives me a double thumbs up and then a warm greeting as I get on. He might be an Egyptian, as he's certainly looking and acting like one. We get off near the Millennial bridge, a pedestrian bridge that takes us from a tall, tilt your head way back to look up at, have to take a picture it's so gorgeous, covered with domes, statues, spires, old St Paul's Cathedral, towards a hideous, blocky, squat, new Tate Modern museum at the other side. I've been in both a couple of times in the past and the interiors reflect the exteriors in both cases. Tate Modern holds no appeal for me at any time, other than it's opening marks the year I moved to England. However, crossing the green Thames over this white spanner bridge today, is again startling with it's beauty and sparkles and happy people. (hmmm, have we gone all the way from white airplanes - to white bridges?)
It is almost 3 and we are starving and grouchy by the time we finally find the restaurant whose location I had miscalculated. I hope I was able to convince Erica that if I had gone directly there, we would have missed all the glory just described. That is, after inhaling the five exotic dishes, double servings of sparkling lime waters and horchata made with cinnamon and almond milk and one cup, rather than shot, of thick Spanish hot chocolate.
We decided to keep the day, serendipitous adventure that it was, simple in it's ambition and head back to Katherine's flat in time for dinner and evening with her and so we did. We even managed to get seats on a commuter train which only took 15 minutes to return, sitting next to two older businessmen who were tall, fit like one familiar with gyms, imposing, very well-dressed and relaxing with a bag of chips (US) (crisps if you are UK) and a beer. This day, with transport for two, museum exhibit charges and lovely lunch, was probably the least expensive day I've ever had in London, somewhere around £80 altogether.
So on 11 September, 2015, I was again with another American in London - who is a foreigner but also English (we have British citizenship now) and this time a close relative rather than a stranger. I feel like I belong now and have a history here and even stay in someone's home rather than a hotel. There were bits from the middle east, some business men, some money factors, upgrades to better at no more cost and my health and feet were good. And the 11s poured onto us from a basket of warm blessings, cascading around us amidst beauty and good humour and connections and people and just all the loveliness that earth has to offer. And so it is.
(author turns at this point to ask Erica if she can draw a yin/yang symbol here but there is no answer - because she's not here anymore.)
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