Thirteen years later...
I was running late for work that day. The weather was beautiful. The skies were a clear deep blue, virtually cloudless. The air was warm with a hint of impending autumn. It was an almost perfect day. My normal commute usually got me to the World Trade Center at around 8:45 but I missed the 8:00 train to Hoboken. Almost missed the 8:20. I ran for the train, got in, sat down and started reading a book, ignoring the world around me.
Around 8:50 as we arrived in Hoboken, there was a stir on the train. Something about a fire in the World Trade Center. I closed my book and looked toward the city, but the towers had already disappeared behind the train station building. As I left the train, an announcement came over the PA in the station: The PATH trains into the World Trade Center were not running. There were no other details given.
Damn, now I'm going to be really late. Luckily, the PATH train to 33rd Street was still running. So I boarded with the idea that I would go up to Christopher St. and take a downtown subway to work. On the train someone mentioned that a plane had hit the World Trade Center. I thought it might be one of those small tour planes or helicopters somehow went out of control. There was a murmur of disbelief from the passengers traveling with me. “What a horrible accident.” The man standing beside me said his daughter worked in the building. Today was going to be an interesting day.
It was about 9:10 when I got to the Christopher Street PATH Station. The crowd trudged up the stairs and me along with it. Once outside I heard a church bell tolling continuously. I walked to the street corner, looked south, and saw the Twin Towers burning. A grim, broken slice was carved into one tower. Dark ugly smoke and yellow-orange flames poured out. A smoky hole punched in the side of the other. A radio announcer's voice came from a SUV parked nearby. "A second jet has hit the buildings" and "that rules out an accident" and "probably the work of terrorists." Sirens whined as police cars, ambulances, and fire trucks flew down the avenues toward the towers. The rest of that day would be accompanied by the sound of screaming sirens.
I tried to call my office to let them know where I was and to find out what was going on there, but I couldn't get a connection on my cell phone. Damn Verizon. On top of that, its batteries were running low. I found a pay phone and called my office's main number. The automated greeting played at me. I checked my voice mail and heard a nervous sounding message from my sister Kathy, asking if I was OK. She forgot to leave me the number where I could reach her. So, instead, I called my parents. Not home. I left a message with them saying I wasn't hurt and I wasn’t in any danger. During that time, a line of people waiting to use the phone had formed behind me, so I hung up and started to make my way downtown toward work. I hoped my coworkers were all somewhere close by and it wouldn't be too hard to find them. The thought that there was going to be danger near the towers just hadn't occurred to me.
As I was making my way down 7th Avenue downtown, a steady stream of police cars, fire trucks , and ambulances headed toward the disaster site. Then I remembered that I had my Palm Pilot with me so I looked up my sister's work number and searched for another pay phone. Every single one I found had a line of people waiting to use it.
Finally, I found a pay phone that was not being used and called my sister. She burst into tears at hearing my voice. I told her not to worry, and to let the rest of our family know that I was OK.
I kept walking downtown, working my way over to 6th Avenue. As I walked, I tried to keep the towers in view to watch the progress of the fire. At the time, I thought it didn't look so bad and that the fire might even go out. Here and there, people were clustered around cars listening to the radios through the open windows. I stopped several times to listen and to try to piece together what was happening. Sometime during that walk, I learned about the attack on the Pentagon. I heard about firemen rushing into the buildings. Still more police cars were rushing toward the scene of the disaster. I did not see it, but I learned later that at about this time people were jumping from the World Trade Center through broken windows to escape the fires..
Finally, I got to Canal St. I was still determined to get to my coworkers and as I was about to cross the street, when suddenly I heard shouting, screaming and crying. I looked up to see one of the World Trade Center towers falling.
From where I was standing, it looked like the tower was a melting candle played in fast forward. Inside the falling debris, thousands of little flashes sparked. Shards of broken glass glinted like fireflies. The dust of pulverized concrete poured out of the sides of the building and a few seconds later, all that was left was a tower of dust and fire. Then that, too, was gone. Only one burning tower remained. Then a low rumbling sound reached us and it mixed with the bells, shouts, screams and sirens. The sound continued for a few moments and then it faded and only sirens and cries remained. I was stunned. The people around me appeared stunned, too. Until that moment, what we had just witnessed was inconceivable. The last thought on anyone's mind was that one of the Twin Towers would collapse. I briefly thought how weird the skyline would look with just one tower.
I did not know, but at that moment, hundreds of people lost their lives. One of them was a coworker who was attending a meeting in the WTC. The other was the husband of another coworker, who was a New York City firefighter. Other coworkers who had evacuated from the building where I worked were far closer than I had been. At that moment, they were running for shelter in the subways, in the doorways of buildings and under cars, and covered with grey dust and ash.
For some reason, I still thought I should get to my friends and coworkers. Even with one tower down, I was sure that they would all be gathered together somewhere. I looked across Canal St and started to cross. A cop, who watched the towers fall with us, stopped me shouting something like "Go north, there may be gas leaks." I looked at him and saw he was serious. I also noticed the tears in his eyes.
So I gave up the thought of meeting up with my coworkers. But now I was without a goal. What was I going to do? Where was I going to go?
I started in the opposite direction and a few of us were telling people coming the other way that the police were turning people around. From time to time I would see someone overcome with fear or grief just sitting on the sidewalk or a stair. I sat down next to one woman who was staring at the ground and asked her if she was OK.
She said, "I know people who work there."
My throat clenched shut, I finally said "Me too."
She leaned against me. I said "We gotta move north. The cops are saying we can't stay here" I told her what they said about gas leaks. She looked at me, nodded. We got up and started north. I lost her in the crowd somewhere along the way.
It was beginning to remind me of scenes I had imagined from listening to the “War of the Worlds” radio broadcast. We were like refugees on the march. The general murmur of fear from people around me wondered if would we be attacked again and if anyplace was safe?
My cell phone still refused to connect, so I waited on another line for a pay phone at a gas station. People were talking about terrorists, loved ones, and coworkers. When my turn to use the phone finally came, I found that somehow the office phone system was still operating. I tried several numbers, but I still had no luck getting in touch with anyone from work. I decided to leave an outgoing voicemail message saying that I was OK.
Walking northward, I saw a crying woman pushing a baby in a stroller. An ambulance pulled up and an EMS worker started talking to her. People were in tears; men, women and children. I also saw people helping each other, consoling each other. I saw ordinary people performing little acts of heroism. The best part of New York came out that day.
Then people started screaming again. Everyone walking with me just stopped and turned to witness the fall of the second World Trade Center tower. I was further away than when the first tower fell, but the effect was still the same. Another rapidly melting candle replaced by dust and smoke and finally a blackened, boiling sky. Screams and sirens hung in the air. I stood and looked at the empty space for a long time, not really knowing what to do except to keep moving.
I started northward again thinking now about getting home, or if I couldn't do that, where I was going to stay until I could. I have friends who live in the city, but I had no clue where they lived or even what their phone numbers were. Then I thought of trying to call my girlfriend, Elisabeth. She worked in NJ. But when I finally got to another phone, I had no change and my calling card's toll free number wasn't working. In frustration, I flipped open my cell phone, hoping the batteries weren't dead yet. I dialed her work number and by some miracle it rang and she answered. I tried to hold back my tears.
I asked Elisabeth to see if she could email some of our friends who lived in the city to find out if I could stay with them. I started to tell her what was going on, but I was worried about the amount of juice left in my cell phone. So I said I would wait for her to get back to me or I would call in 45 minutes. Whichever came first. We exchanged I love yous and I shut the phone, hoping it's dying batteries would hold out for one more call.
I noticed that the crowd was thinning a bit. A lot of the crowd passed me while I was talking on the phone. So I walked north on Sullivan Street with the rest of the stragglers. The sound of jet engines filled the air. We all stopped, looked up and watched as two jet fighters cut through the sky above us. Was it war? Nobody knew.
I came to corner and stopped when I heard the sound of organ music filtering into the street. I was outside a church on Sullivan St. and paused a moment. I thought momentarily about going in to rest and pray, but the thought that my phone might not work inside stopped me. I felt guilty as I walked away.
I decided I was going to go to Washington Square Park. So I continued north on Sullivan. The day was getting a little warmer and I was starting to feel thirsty. I walked into a corner bodega and stood in front of a refrigerator case full of all different kinds of ice cold drinks. Trendy herbal teas with names like Memory, Health, Stress, Energy and Power stared back at me. Now I had to make a choice. It was between two flavors. "Stress?" "Energy?" "Stress?" "Energy?" Chuckling at my indecision, I finally chose Energy. I paid for the drink and went out into the street. It may not have been this way, but I remember feeling like the street was suddenly deserted and I was the only one there. I opened the bottle and swallowed the green tea with exotic tropical and citrus fruits as it said on the label. Funny how I remember that, but not if there were people near me.
Then my phone started vibrating. It was Elisabeth. She told me that our friends, Ian and Shea lived on Sullivan St, which happened to be the street I was standing on, and that they were waiting for me. They told her that if need be, I could stay there overnight. They are probably two of the coolest people I know. I thanked Elisabeth profusely and told her I was going to be OK.
Their address was south of where I was standing. So I turned around and walked back down the street. Now I noticed the crowd of people around me. I was walking against the flow. People's faces looked tired and haunted.
When I finally got to Ian and Shea's apartment they buzzed me in and I went up the stair and saw Ian coming the other way. I was so happy and relieved to see a familiar face that I finally let the tears fall. I went into their apartment and gave Shea a big hug. I sat down on their couch. The television was on. Images I had seen in real life were playing over and over. It was surreal, watching the same scene from different angles. The towers collapsed over and over again.
Ian told me that they had been near City Hall taking pictures. They saw one of the jet's engines just laying on the street. They had been only a few blocks away and ran when the first tower fell. He said they returned home, covered with dust. They were still trying to get all of the stuff out of their hair when they saw Elisabeth's message online and contacted her. We sat there, watching the TV wondering what we could do, wondering if there would be more attacks, wondering if this was war. I wondered if I would ever get home.
I asked if I could use their computer. I jumped online to check the my friends list to see if everyone who worked in the city was accounted for. Then I sent an email to my friends and I instant messaged a few others to let them know I was ok.
My phone vibrated again. It was one of my coworkers calling me from San Francisco. I didn't get to talk to him for very long before the phone battery finally died completely.
Shea served the sandwiches she made for lunch, while we continued to watch the news. We watched the planes crash and the towers fall again and again. We saw the fires at the Pentagon and learned about the plane crash in Pennsylvania. We heard that the city was shut down tight. I worried about my friends and coworkers. The black and oily smoke plume from the fires obscured all traces of Chase Manhattan Plaza, the building where I worked.
Then I started worrying about how I would get home. Ian said I could stay with them if I wanted. I was worried about who would take care of Anime, my cat. We also had the urge to do something, anything, to help. We talked about going to give blood and getting away from the apartment for a while. Then an announcement came on the TV that ferry service had started to bring people back to New Jersey. Pier 11 down by the South Street Seaport was the closest point for me. I decided that, rather than stay in the city, I would go home. I could give blood another time.
So around 3:30 or so, Ian and Shea went to donate blood and I went the opposite way, back down Sullivan Street. Back downtown. Back toward the site that would be called Ground Zero. The streets were mostly deserted. No cars. except for the occasional police car or fire truck. Virtually no people. As I walked a zigzag pattern down the streets making my way southeast toward the seaport, cops stood at some of the intersections stopping cars, asking people where they were going. For some reason they didn't stop me.
I walked across one street, down the next until finally I came to Canal Street. At this particular corner there were no police. Once I crossed, I was further south than I had ever been that day. Each step took me closer to home, but each step also took me closer to the scene of the tragedy. On one block I saw teenagers playing basketball in a playground. They seemed oblivious to what was going on a short distance away.
I continued down the empty streets. There were more and more cops, mostly ignoring me, directing people to the "safe" zones. As I got closer to the City Hall area of town I heard a faint but familiar noise. It was the sound of nails being hammered into wood. It echoed off the buildings, growing louder as I moved closer but I could not see its source. It was then that I smelled the stinging odor of burning plastic.
I turned to go down one block that would have taken me past the Courthouse, past a knot of police officers standing on a corner, but a female officer stopped me and asked me where I was going. I told her I was trying to get to the ferries at the seaport. She told me all the streets except one were closed. I backtracked a block, then continued on the designated path. The eerie sound of hammers still echoed all around, growing louder and louder.
I continued down Elk Street and came to City Hall Park. Crowds of people were milling about. Then I discovered the source of the hammering sound. A crew of men were building what looked like stretchers out of wood. Dozens of finished stretchers were being stacked up in anticipation of carrying the wounded to hospitals. I stopped and watched for a few moments, wondering if they needed help. I overheard someone say there weren't enough hammers. I decided to move on.
I walked down Park Row toward the Brooklyn Bridge entrance, still navigating toward the Seaport. A breeze was blowing and I began to notice a thin covering of gray ash and dust on everything and everybody. The smell of burning petroleum, plastic, rubber and other stuff I didn't want to think about grew stronger.
I crossed over the Brooklyn Bridge entrance ramp and started down the sloping road that ran alongside the bridge ramp. I saw people with dust masks on, trying to keep from breathing in the soot that was falling from the sky like polluted snow blown about by the breeze. There was partially burnt paper floating out of the sky. On the ground pages from books, calendars and newspapers were littered about. Some of the calendar pages had writing on them. A few hours ago all these things might have been on peoples' desks. There were sneakers and shoes, purses and gym bags just laying on the street, looking as if they had just been dropped there. More dust blew up and I realized the air was probably toxic, so I moved on.
On Gold Street I walked past a hospital annex. Doctors and nurses waited on the sidewalk with empty stretchers. I thought it was odd that no ambulances were pulling up. The doctors looked tired and nervous. I wonder how I looked.
Down Fulton Street, the Seaport was in sight, past closed-up shops and evacuated offices. I turned on to South Street and headed to the ferry pier. I was practically under the smoke plume from the fires only a few blocks away. I looked for the building where I worked, but I couldn't see it because it was obscured by the smoke. Now more people were walking with me, all heading to the ferry. I passed policemen, firemen and members of the National Guard all looking grim and worried. I walked up to one fireman sitting on the front bumper of his truck, I thanked him, he said something like, “it’s my job.”
When I finally got to Pier 11, the ferry was waiting to pick us up. It was practically empty when I went and sat down on a bench seat next to the window. I just sat staring out, watching the charred and smoldering papers falling from the sky onto the pier, into the water. It was like a macabre version of the aftermath of a ticker tape parade. It felt like it took an eternity, but finally the boat to be filled up with passengers and we pulled away from the dock.
As the boat floated out into the East River, I noticed a half dozen or so black helicopters on the heliport pier. They looked like a squadron of shiny black dragonflies resting on a giant rock. As we passed one took off followed by another. They flew out over Brooklyn and disappeared.
The fire and smoke was visible from a different angle now. The hellish red-orange-yellow-black flames obscured all traces of the where the Trade Center stood, except for an occasional glimpse of the skeleton of twisted steel. In the water, all kinds of debris floated on top and just under the surface, forming a line paper and plastic in the water where the East River met the Hudson.
As the ferry continued on its way, we passed west of the disaster. The buildings of the World Financial Center stood against the backdrop of fire and smoke. One of the buildings had part of its facade ripped away. Pieces of the World Trade Center stuck out of the buildings at odd angles. The Winter Garden was full of smoke and debris.
Finally, the boat docked in Jersey City and Red Cross volunteers greeted us. One of them seemed oddly cheerful as he offered us a place to sit and something to eat or drink. I think I took a donut and some juice and started the trudge to the busses. People around me were all talking about their experiences; a lot of them were similar to mine. The air was full of rumor and speculation. I ignored most of it. Instead I walked with them and kept looking back toward the city to see what I could see of the fire and smoke. A short walk brought us to where a line of busses were parked, waiting to take us to Hoboken.
A short while later, the bus pulled out and we got as close to the train station as we could before traffic stopped us. We asked the driver to let us out and we walked past make shift disaster relief centers where people who were covered with soot and ash were given showers and had their clothes cleaned.
Finally, I entered the station, found the train that would take me home, got on and sat down. We waited while the train filled up and then pulled out. I felt alone in a train full of people. I wished there was someone I knew, or who knew me.
It was about 7pm when I finally got home, a second floor apartment in a two-family house. I sat on the kitchen floor, hugging Anime, my cat and cried. After a while I noticed that a half dozen messages flashed on my answering machine. The first message was from Sue Kesselman, the General Manager of my office, who wanted me to call and let her know I was all right. This was the first I heard from anyone from my office. At least someone was OK. I started making calls. First to my girlfriend, then to my family, going down the list I had made.
EPILOGUE:
ONE YEAR LATER: Now as I finish writing this, it is exactly one year later. This account has taken me months to finish. Much has changed, to me personally and to the city I love. I'm writing this, so I remember what happened to me that day. So I can tell people what I witnessed, first hand. I wasn't a hero, I wasn't hurt, but I was there.
TWO YEARS LATER: Now two years have passed since that day. I’ve rewritten small parts of this because I remembered some small detail or found something slightly out of sequence. Since that day I married Angela Weller, the woman who makes my life complete. My grandmother has passed on. My niece, Alexandra, was born. I was laid-off from my job at Royal and was unemployed for almost 9 months. Now, however, I have a temp job in downtown New York City, only a few blocks from the site of the disaster. During one a lunch break, I went back to the site of the disaster and so much has changed. There is now a history of the World Trade Center, New York City and the downtown NYC area posted the fence surrounding the site. Construction of the new PATH station has made the site show the hope of its renewal. Plans to construct a new World Trade Center have been put in place, while the plans for a memorial are still being debated. I can’t wait to see what arises from the site. Whatever it is, I hope it’s a magnificent and fitting tribute.
THREE YEARS LATER: Three years have gone by. Still, in some ways, this seems like it just happened. I made some minor changes to the text, but now I find that I am forgetting more details than I remember. Today is the first time since the tragedy that 9/11 falls on a Saturday. Today is also the first time that I have not been in NYC on the anniversary. Looking back and find that I have much to be thankful for. Angel and I have moved to find a new life in Tampa, Florida. We now own a cute little bungalow. My niece, Jennifer, graduated from high school and started college. Although I miss my family and friends, I know that things will be better for us here. I also miss the city, but I know it will go on without me. More importantly, Angel and I have much to look forward to and I can't wait to see what the future will bring.
FOUR YEARS LATER: I made some grammatical changes to the text and took out some things that seemed redundant or unneccessary. I just celebrated my first anniversary in my job in Florida. A lot more has happened but a lot stays the same. Our renovations of the house are coming along with the living room, study and bathroom mostly restored. It's great to see the work you put into something bear fruit. We visited NYC over July 4th weekend and we went to visit the World Trade Center site. Not much has changed there over the last year that I could see. Eventually they are going to build a new tower there, but who knows when. A different tragedy has just occured. Hurricane Katrina stuck the Gulf Coast and killing many people destroying a lot of homes. On September 11, 2001, I was able to go home and sleep in my own bed. On September 11, 2005, some of the people that witnessed and were affected by Katrina can't go home for a long time. Some can never go home. So what did we learn from that day and what were we able to apply to future tragedies? I'll leave that answer for another time.
FIVE YEARS LATER: It's now two years since I moved to Tampa and two years since I started working at my current company. Last week I did my last radio show for WFDU-FM. We are so busy at my job that I barely have time to think, but the people I work with are really nice souls. I feel about as home there as I ever have in any of my former jobs. I may visit NYC again soon, I don't know. The restoration of Haus Westphal (our little bungalow in Seminole Heights, Tampa) is coming along slowly but surely.
As for the text, I made very few changes this time, mostly changed the way a phrase or two was worded.
I think this fifth anniversary of the tragedy has become an overhyped, overpoliticized event. People have already forgotten some of the lessons we should have learned. Some people have used 9/11 for political or personal gain and thereby cheapened the lives lost that day. It's a rare day when I don't have at least a fleeting thought about that day. It still concerns me that something like that could happen again. However, I am not frightened enough to give up my freedom nor am I willing to give up my rights. Sadly, five years later, the balance has yet to be found.
SIX YEARS LATER: Things continue on. I really didn't think I would post this this year so I really haven't thought about how I would update this.
SEVEN YEARS LATER: Added some punctuation, took out some words. The images of the falling towers is still in my head. I can still remember where I was standing. The sound of people screaming. I don't need a TV to rewind it for me.
Life goes on. I am single and alone again. I have a little papillion dog name Josie and Anime the Cat is still with me. Angel divorced me and moved out in April. I am still living in the bungalow in Tampa. I'd really love to be out of this house, but it won't sell. In August, I was part of what people are calling the best Convergence ever, C14. I jumped a shark. I made the news. I was in "Goth Cruise: The Movie."
I eat, I work, I sleep. I really need a break.
EIGHT YEARS LATER: I almost forgot about posting this year. I have almost no time to write this. I made no changes to the text. I am living in an apartment in Palm Harbor, Florida. The house finally sold in May. Paying off debt. Really good stuff is happening, too. More later, when i have time.
NINE YEARS LATER: I changed one word in the original text. Somehow this is affecting me more this year. I have decided to do something to take the day back for myself. It may sound stupid but I am going to get a second tattoo today so that I have a different reason to remember the date.
Life continues to roll on. I am living in the apartment in Palm Harbor. As it turns out I am spending more time in my old neighborhood, Seminole Heights, than I thought I would. I find that I miss living there. I have become involved in the Jobsite Theater group, volunteering to help with some of the behind the scenes stuff. They are a really talented and interesting bunch of people. GothCruise sails on. GC7 is in December. Work is taking up a lot of my mental bandwidth. So much so that I missed a deadline to submit a proposal for a possible radio show on WMNF 88.5. Rats. Changed my eating habits and lost 20 lbs. I discovered along the way, that I enjoy cooking and making up recipes. Go figure.
To sum up, I've been making new friends, cherishing old friends, doing new things, and looking forward to what's around the next bend.
TEN YEARS LATER: No changes to the text. It's the tenth anniversary and I am in no mood to watch all the stuff that is on TV. The sights from that day are etched in my brain. I don't need an overly dramatic commentator to tell me about something I experienced first hand. I think the best thing I did for myself was to write this all down. I do note that the 9/11 memorial is finally built and being dedicated today. I will have to go see it some day. And a new building is finally going up. I can't wait to see that, too.
One day I think I might want to retrace my steps.
Life is rolling on. I am still living in Palm Harbor. Anime, my cat, passed away. I still have her ashes. So she is still with me. My dog, Josie, is sitting on my lap as I type this. My family is facing some difficult decisions regarding caring for my parents.
In other news, I got a promotion to Process Owner. I met someone special. I was "offstage voice" for the Jobsite production of "Mindgame."I have made it a project to get all my records, tapes and CDs into digital format. I may post some old radio shows. Life is good right now, but I have a feeling the best is yet to come.
ELEVEN YEARS LATER: No changes to the text. When I woke up this morning, I forgot what day it was. I can honestly say that I have been while I still have memory flashes of this day from time to time, they are less frequent, there is so much going on. On the other hand, if asked, I could still recount that entire day in detail.
Life, as they say, goes on. I am still living in Palm Harbor. Josie, my dog, is a little bundle of energy. My parents house has been cleared of 50+ years of memories and is being rented out. My parents are both in assisted living and getting along well. My nieces and nephews are growing up. There are big changes at my job, many people I used to work with are gone.
I am still seeing that someone special I mentioned last year. I was a stage hand in another play, "The 39 Steps." This was a great learning experience for me. I have also begun to take ballroom dancing lessons. Since February, I have learned enough swing and waltz to be a danger to myself and others. I have participated in competitions and showcases. I am no Fred Astaire, but that's not my goal. My goal is to have fun and to push myself to learn something new.
TWELVE YEARS LATER: Changed some text slightly but the story remains the same. I didn’t forget this year. The media made sure of that.
Not much has changed since last year, in fact in many ways it feels like no time has passed at all. The family is pretty much the same. I feel like I am making a big difference at work and have made a positive impact.
Still seeing my special someone, she is awesome. I am still learning ballroom dancing. My instructor is the best. She took a bunch of my crazy ideas and turned them into incredible dance routines. So far we’ve done slow waltz, East Coast swing, foxtrot, tango and argentine tango and we are currently working on Viennese waltz and samba routines. I had a great time visiting Alaska with my cruise group. This was the best cruise ever.
THIRTEEN YEARS LATER: I made some small changes to the text.
I moved to a new place in Oldsmar after the new owners of my apartment complex in Palm Harbor wanted to raise my rent by $115.
Just had my tenth anniversary at work. There were some big changes in leadership this past year.
My mom and dad share a room in an assisted living facility. My dad is not doing well. I went up to see him a couple of days ago and watched his favorite movie with him. My mom loves to sing old tunes. I am amazed that she knows the words to some really old songs. My sisters are doing a wonderful job of taking care of them.
I’m still seeing Heather, my special someone. She is a wonderful person and I learn a lot from her.
I'm also still ballroom dancing. I really enjoy it. My instructor and I spend a lot of time working out stories to tell with our routines and folks really enjoy them.
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I wrote this, to remember what happened that day without the hype, the drama, and the politics.