It’s a first frost on your windshield kind of fall day. The sun creaks above the horizon and the frozen blades of grass quickly melt onto my shoes. Walking out among the mounds, I step back in time.
The alarm beep, beep, beeps and we jump behind the curtain shielding us from sensitive, Top Secret information coming in over the Comm system.
30 seconds later, the curtain slides back open and the missileers — one man and one woman — continue explaining their roles in this bunker, this completely secured capsule dozens of feet beneath the … where, I can’t tell you.
I think it was somewhere during my sixth or seventh trip up or down my daughter’s East Harlem apartment stairs that I realized just how lucky we are, how good we have it. Living on the fifth floor of an old building with terrible heat and no air conditioning, my daughter attended grad school at Columbia for two years.
The lack of heat wasn’t an issue as we moved her, though; outside it was 91 degrees. Inside it felt even hotter. But I can’t believe how fortunate we were, we are.Read More
The email came it at 4:06 pm Wednesday, “Call me as soon as you can. Need to discuss something with you.“
You’d think I would’ve gotten the memo.
Hiking a perilous trail (well, perilous to me) and surviving the journey, would alert some people to the fact that maybe sheer cliff walls and tight rock tunnel passageways might be better left to other, more intrepid national park visitors. Especially since I’ve just miraculously reached the end of that trail before lunchtime.