Each year, I re-post this set of tips for those traveling to our glorious nation's capital, for REALTOR members who plan on attending the National Association of REALORS Mid-Year Conference. It's that time, again!
TIPS FOR SURVIVING THE NAR MID-YEAR CONFERENCE:
CHECK THE WEATHER (AND PLAN FOR RAIN). When it rains in D.C., it RAINS. Plan to bring a small, portable umbrella or to purchase one during your stay. For an extended forecast, go here.
LEARN THE METRO.
For cheap, quick and easy transportation, you can't beat D.C.'s subway system, the Metro! Snatch a day pass or a week-long pass and ride the rails to your heart's content. Check out the Metro's schedules and fares.
SEE THE SIGHTS. Though your schedule is likely to be busy, plan to use your downtime to see some of the great landmarks, history and culture of our national capital. Head out to Arlington, Virginia. Take a tour of George Washington's home in Mount Vernon. See the incredible national memorials. Tour the Smithsonian museums. Go to the National Zoo. Hop on the Old Town Trolley or the D.C. Duck for a tour. Learn more about D.C. walking tours here.
Take a walk through the National Mall… It's even more fun than the kind you shop in!
Even if you can't do everything, make a point of doing something. The capitol city and surrounding areas are chock-full of history. A good place to learn about the area's attractions can be found here.
"THESE BOOTS ARE MADE FOR WALKIN'." Or, at least, they should be. D.C. is a walkin' kind of town, and comfortable shoes are a must. If you're attending business functions, tote a canvas bag (get a FREE one at the trade show!) that you can toss your "professional" shoes into, but stride to your meeting in sneaks. Trust me on this, folks. I've got blister scars to prove it.
Snugglebug is now six years old, and tends to favor the dramatic. Mr. Wright says we've solved the Nature vs. Nurture question, right there -- despite being adopted, she's completely "inherited" my sense of melodrama.
Blame it on the coveted Cabbage Patch Kids dolls of my childhood, but I've always thought of adoption as completely normal and, in fact, a matter of course. Even as a pre-maternal teenager, my plan was always to "have two, and adopt at least one."
Regular readers will know my plan didn't work out exactly as intended, but the general principle was met when I had one, inherited four, and adopted two. So far.
Mr. Wright and I have always tried to impress upon Curlytop and Snugglebug that they're special, because they were adopted. They were "chosen," and are cherished because they were a gift, and part of God's plan for our family. We read books about adoption, celebrate National Adoption Day, make cakes for their adoption anniversary, and talk, talk, talk about how they came to be ours.
So when Snugglebug, in tears, woke me a few nights ago, the last thing I expected her to be upset about was the concept of adoption. Perhaps she'd had a bad dream, or she had a tummy ache, or maybe she was stressed out over the national budget... I think I mentioned her love of the dramatic, so her tears were no surprise. Whatever it was, my motherly instinct kicked in, prepared to fix the world so she (and I) could go back to sleep.
"What's the matter, Honey?" I asked, while making room under the covers for her.
"Baby Kade," she sniffled, climbing into bed next to me.
"Kade" is the seven-month old son of my cousin, Mistie Dawn, whose name I have always been jealous of because it's so much cooler than mine.
"What about him?"
"Why hasn't he been adopted yet? I'm so sad his family hasn't found him, yet," she said. "They must be looking for him. I'm going to miss him when he gets adopted!"
Oh, dear... How must the world appear to a six-year old, who lives with two parents but has two other parents? Add to that mind-bender six brothers and sisters who grew up under one roof, but all had other parents, as well, and kids who only have two parents begin to appear an anomaly.
It was midnight, for crying out loud, but I wanted to put the issue to bed (so to speak).
"You know, Sweetie, when a baby is born, sometimes the mommy and daddy don't have a place for the baby to live. Or enough food, or money for diapers and other things a baby needs. And sometimes, because they love their baby very much, the mommy and daddy will find another mommy and daddy to adopt the baby, so the baby can have a crib, and food, and toys, and lots and lots of extra love," I explained. "But other times, mommies and daddies have everything that baby needs, and they don't need help, so they can just love the baby a lot, by themselves. Cousin Mistie and Kade's daddy have everything he needs, so he's going to stay with them. Does that make sense?"
"Oh," Snugglebug said, cuddling closer to me under the covers. "Mom?"
"Yes?"
"I'm glad you and Daddy adopted me."
You know, sometimes I look back on those three and a half years between placement and finalization of the girls' adoptions, and remember what a nightmare it was -- the paperwork (ad naseum), the fear that our state or their tribe would change their minds and pull "their" children from our home, the absolutely driving frustration that forced me to be an advocate, the sleepless nights, the endless questioning... "Are we doing the right thing?"... and know, with all my heart, I'd do it all again.
Two half-dollar sized bald patches suddenly appeared on Curlytop’s head. Within days, they’d merged into one big hairless patch. After Mr. Wright peeled me off the ceiling, I made an appointment with our pediatrician and consulted Dr. Google, which is always a mistake for panic-prone moms. Googling, that is, not making a pediatrician appointment.
I knew what it wasn’t – an allergic reaction, ringworm, a creative scissors mishap, poorly applied depilatory cream – and the scariest explanation Dr. Google offered was an autoimmune disease called Alopecia, which causes the immune system to mistakenly attack hair follicles, resulting in baldness. Basically, affected people become allergic to their own hair, in the most simple of terms.
Our pediatrician confirmed my fears.
Curlytop has Alopecia. Right now, we’re calling it Alopecia Areata, which means patches of baldness. If all her hair falls out, we get to call it Alopecia Totalis. There is no treatment or cure for Alopecia, so it doesn’t really matter what flavor she has. Nothing can be done to stop the hair loss or regrow lost hair faster, anyway.
Kids at Curlytop’s school are already asking questions. “What’s that on your head?” they ask. “Oh, my hair just fell out,” she says. We’re working on pronunciation of Alopecia (AL-OH-PE-SHA) so she can sound fancy when she explains it.
To be honest, it bothers me more than it bothers her right now. That may change in the future, when femininity and appearance take on more significance in her social world, and I hope I’ll be prepared to help her hold her head up through those times – bald or not. She’s seven years old now. Will her outlook change when she’s twelve?
“Autoimmune disease” is a scary word for this mama, who watched her brother’s immune system attack every organ in his body following his bone marrow transplant for erythroleukemia. Really, though, Rheumatoid Arthritis is an autoimmune disease, and I have it. I don’t think of myself as “sick,” and I need to remember that Curlytop isn’t “sick,” even though her hair is falling out by the handful.
There’s a chance her hair will grow back. There’s a chance she’ll lose more. There’s a chance her eyelashes and eyebrows will fall out. There’s a chance all or none of these things will happen, and for a control freak like me, not knowing what to expect is unacceptable. I want answers. I want to know what I can do to make it “better.”
I want a cure. There isn’t one.
For now, I’m learning. I’m learning there is no support group in our area for families living with Alopecia. I’m learning how to craft a 30-second Alopecia “commercial” for strangers who may ask if my daughter has cancer. I’m learning how to talk to kids about Alopecia – including Curlytop.
“So, the doctor says your hair might grow back. Or, some more of your hair might fall out. But what’s important to remember is that no matter how much hair you have, you are awesome and funny and great at many things and very much loved...”
“Okay, Mom. Can I go play, now?”
Did I mention it bothers me more than it bothers her?
Please visit and support the Children’s Alopecia Project (CAP) at http://childrensalopeciaproject.org to learn more about Alopecia Areata, and how CAP supports and helps children affected by Alopecia.
Get my recipe for a divine burger alternative here.
The email notification pinged on my Blackberry. It was a message from a reporter, seeking information on local vegans for a piece she is doing on veganism for a lifestyle magazine. Would I be interested in participating? You bet your sweet potato, I was interested!
I dialed the reporter’s number from the passenger seat of the car while Mr. Wright drove around, running errands. She thanked me for calling, and asked me questions such as, “What led you to follow a vegan diet?” and “What advice do you have for those who’d like to try a vegan diet?”
The answers came easily, and for once, I expressed myself eloquently with just the right amount of humor balanced with emotion, intellect and compassion. I was brilliant!
She asked me if my entire family followed a vegan diet, just as Mr. Wright pulled into the high school parking lot to pick up Pepper. No, I explained, the rest of the family is omnivorous. However, the meat in our freezer is either hunted by Mr. Wright, or raised by extended family under humane and hormone-free conditions.
“I really think there’s more integrity in the meat my family eats than in that found at the grocery store meat counter,” I said. “The animals didn’t live a life of suffering, as is so common in commercial farming. They existed in nature, or in a compassionate, well-monitored environment.”
I was on a roll, driving home my point that, although veganism might not be for everyone, we can all make conscientious decisions about our food. Did I mention I was brilliant?
At that very moment, Mr. Wright made a sharp left turn into the drive-thru of an establishment which represents the very antithesis of the point I was making. I won’t name names, here, but suffice it to say all my credibility on the ethics of eating was destroyed when he rolled down the window and started rattling off, “I’ll have a cheeseburger, Quarter Pounder, Big Mac and a McChicken… Pepper, do you want anything else?”
Have you seen the movie Pulp Fiction? Never have I more desired to resurrect the classic line, “…I’m hanging up the phone! Prank caller! Prank caller!” I asked for the entire incident to be stricken from the record, but… I’ll have to wait, with the rest of you, to see what the final article includes.
By the way, do you know why divorce attorneys are so expensive? Because sometimes, they’re worth it.
We're halfway through Vegan MoFo, and still going strong! Have you found something deliciously new this month?
Before I forget, please, please, pretty please go to this link and VOTE for my blog in the Circle of Moms Top 25 Food Allergy Moms blog contest! No registration required -- just a click! Remember, you can vote once EVERY 24 hours. The contest is winding down, and as a late nomination, I could use some help getting into the Top 25. Thank you!
Princess came home for her birthday weekend. I couldn't be more proud of that young lady... She's anxiously waiting to hear back on her applications to vet school, working, finishing her senior year at university with a major in Wildlife Ecology. It's a marvel to me that I had a hand in producing this amazing human being!
Anyway, for her 22nd birthday, I asked her what kind of cake she wanted. "Chocolate!" she said, which wasn't a big surprise. That girl loves her chocolate. Who doesn't?! "And," she added, "could you make that peanut butter cream frosting you did that one time?"
Ah, yes... That one time. See, it was The Dude's birthday, and our family was spending the weekend at Birch Bay. Our hotel room had a kitchen, so I'd packed everything I'd need to make a fabulous cake and frosting -- with the exception of the vegan margarine, which I didn't want to hassle with chilling during the several-hours-long drive. I figured I'd just pick some up at the local grocery when we arrived.
Except... none of the local groceries HAD vegan margarine. How was I going to make a creamy vegan frosting, with no margarine? I scanned our grocery booty, and spotted the creamy peanut butter. Hey, I thought, margarine is basically just fat, and peanut butter is full of fat. I wonder... It didn't have the exact consistency I wanted, but it worked well enough to cover the cake.
This time, I solved the consistency problem by adding a bit of margarine to make it even creamier and "buttery."
I was all prepared to mix up two layers of chocolate cake when inspiration struck. What if... What if I put peanut butter IN the cake?!
The result was a zebra-striped peanut butter and chocolate cake, and it was divine. The technique to produce zebra stripes in the cake is easy-peasy, and you can find many, many tutorials online, if my photos and description leave anything to be desired.
Happy baking!
Peanut Butter Chocolate Zebra Cake with Peanut Butter Cream Frosting
Peanut Butter Cake Ingredients:
1 1/2 c. unbleached flour
1 c. cane juice crystals or natural sugar (I use Zulka)
1/2 t. baking soda
1/2 t. fine sea salt
1 c. cold water
1/2 c. creamy peanut butter
1 T. vanilla
2 T. lemon juice
Chocolate Cake Ingredients:
1 2/3 c. unbleached flour
1 c. cane juice crystals or natural sugar (I use Zulka)
1/4 c. cocoa powder
1 t. baking soda
1/2 t. fine sea salt
1 c. cold strong coffee or espresso or water
1/3 c. canola or olive oil
1 t. apple cider vinegar
1/2 t. vanilla extract
Peanut Butter Cream Frosting
1/2 c. vegan stick margarine
2/3 c. creamy peanut butter
1 lb. vegan powdered sugar
1/8 - 1/4 c. vanilla soy milk
Preheat oven to 375 degrees.
In a large mixing bowl or with your stand mixer, combine the following Peanut Butter Cake ingredients: flour, cane juice crystals, baking soda, and salt, stirring until well-combined.
Blend in cold water, peanut butter, vanilla and lemon juice. Beat until light, airy and creamy.
Set aside batter and begin Chocolate Cake:
In a large mixing bowl or with your stand mixer, combine the following Chocolate Cake Ingredients: flour, cane juice crystals, cocoa powder, baking soda and salt, stirring until well-combined.
Blend in coffee or water, oil, vinegar and vanilla. Beat until light, airy and creamy.
Grease and flour two 8-inch round cake pans.
Tip #1: Spray pans with non-stick cooking spray and use a paper towel to evenly disperse the spray over the pans' surfaces, then dust with flour.
Tip #2: Cut two waxed paper circles just smaller than the bottom of the pans, then insert into bottom of pans before pouring batter. Make sure to smooth out any air bubbles before filling. The waxed paper will ensure easy removal when the cakes are turned out.
Pour 1/4 cup Peanut Butter Cake batter into the center of the first pan, and 1/4 cup Chocolate Cake batter into the center of the second pan.
Pour 1/4 cup Chocolate Cake batter directly on top of Peanut Butter Cake batter in first pan, and 1/4 cup Peanut Butter Cake batter on top of Chocolate Cake batter in second pan.
Continue adding 1/4 cup of alternating batter into each pan until all batter is dispersed, and the batter has "smooshed" out to fill the edges of the pan.
On a flat surface, spin each cake pan to push the batter even farther out to the edges. The center of the cake tends to rise more than the edges, so this will help produce a more even cake top.
Bake for 35-40 minutes, or until cakes pull away from edges of pan and a toothpick inserted into the middle of each cake comes out clean.
Allow cakes to cool for 10-15 minutes before turning out onto a cooling rack.
While cakes are cooling, make your frosting:
With a hand mixer or stand mixer, cream together margarine and peanut butter until smooth and creamy.
Add powdered sugar, turning mixer down to low speed, and blend in. The mixture will be a bit dry and crumbly -- don't freak.
Add 1/8 cup soy milk and blend in. If you want your frosting softer and lighter, blend in soy milk, 1 tablespoon at a time, until frosting reaches desired consistency.
Return to cooled cakes. Remove wax paper (if used) from bottoms of cakes and flip one onto a serving plate or covered cake circle. Using a serrated knife, carefully level the cake.
Fill a decorator's bag with frosting and pipe a thick border around the top of the leveled cake. I use a Wilton #21 star tip for this.
Spoon out a generous amount of frosting into center of cake and spread a thick layer to the piped border. This will be your cake "filling."
Flip the second cake and place directly on top of first cake. Using your serrated knife, level off the second cake.
Cover the entire cake with a crumb coat and chill for 30-45 minutes.
To cover the cake, I used my Wilton #21 star tip and a decorator's bag to pipe random scrolls onto the top and sides of the cake. Note: I actually ended up using one-and-a-half batches of Peanut Butter Cream frosting.
Princess picked out her own candles. I must say, I agree with her selection, as she's certainly a STAR!
I'm cross-posting this from Sexy Vegan Mama, because it's simple enough that anyone can do it, and cute enough to share! Happy Vegan MoFo!
Let's make one thing clear... I'm NOT one of those crafty moms who scrapbooks, decorates my house for every season, turns vintage suitcases into shabby chic conversation pieces, or makes masterpieces of boxed lunches.
I'm just not.
What I AM is a mama who's always looking for fun, easy ways to get food into my kids' bodies, while acknowledging our entire family's hodgepodge of food restrictions:
I'm vegan, Pepper has digestive issues (we're still working on identifying those -- she's heading toward a referral to a GI specialist), Curlytop and Snugglebug are allergic to Red Dye 40, and poor little Snugglebug can't have fruit if it's juiced or dried due to the change in sugar concentration.
(Oh, by the way, please go VOTE for this blog in the Circle of Moms Top 25 Food Allergy Mom blog contest! Sexy Vegan Mama was a late nomination, and there are only a few days left of the contest, so I have a lot of catching up to do! You can vote once every 24 hours. Thank you!)
I also don't have a ton of time on my hands, so when I see those crafty moms cranking out cute-as-a-button bentos, I'm absolutely floored that anyone, anyone would spend so much time creating a meal that's going to roll around in a backpack for a few hours before its precious owner gets around to eating it.
Still, there's something to be said for a cute lunch when you're a pigtailed princess in kindergarten or the first grade... So I made a quickie little bento that's so simple, even a caveman mom of seven can do it.
About the bento boxes -- I picked them up in a Tokyo hotel gift shop, and I'm sure I paid too many Yen for them, but they're adorable, and they've held up well over the past couple years, with just a bit of scratching to the adornment on the top lid. I haven't found the exact same ones online yet, but these are similar in design, except they include a spoon, rather than chopsticks. Plus, they're less than ten bucks. Woohoo!
They have a shallow tray on the bottom with a lid that fits snugly inside the edges, then a deeper tray on top, with removable partitions and a snug-fitting lid. On top of all of it is a clear, shallow, hard plastic top which creates a storage area for small plastic chopsticks (included in the set) or other tiny utensils. (I'm fond of keeping and reusing for lunches the diminutive plastic forks which come in Simply Asia's Sesame Teriyaki noodle bowls (they're vegan!), which I pack when I'm traveling to places where I'll be cooped up in a hotel room or where vegan options are hopeful, at best.)
Anyway, to make this bento, I:
Cut vegan whole wheat bread slices with a bear-shaped cookie cutter (that link goes to the exact one I use)
Made a sandwich with PB & J (no "J" for Snugglebug, as she can't digest the sugar, and if your kid's school has a "no nuts" policy, you can use tahini, or make whatever sort of sandwich your progeny will eat)
Used a wooden skewer to pierce the bread where the eyes, nose and bow tie would be to help the "decorations" stay put better
Placed a dried currant in each of the holes for the eyes and nose (I had to take Snugglebug's currants out before sending her off to school... She said, "Mom! Are you trying to make me sick? You know I can't have RAISINS!" I tried to argue, "They're currants, Honey, and they're just for the pictures," but... Cue dramatic meltdown.)
Placed two dairy-free chocolate chips, point-to-point, at the bear's neckline for his bow tie
Tucked cut broccoli florets around the bear
Used an inexpensive cupcake paper to line the small compartment, then filled it with slivered almonds and dairy-free chocolate chips (I know they make fancy, colorful bento liners, but I'm cheap, and I always fail to plan ahead. Cupcake papers work fine.)
Filled the bottom tray with baby carrots, garbanzo beans and fresh peas
That's it! Is that the simplest bento ever, or what?!
Christoffer Carstanjen boarded United Flight 175 intending to take a vacation, headed for San Diego, where he was scheduled to attend a motorcycle rally. He was 33 years old on September 11, 2001, a culinary chef and carpenter who built his own home.
A resident of Turner Falls, Massachusetts, and a computer research specialist for the University of Massachusetts Amherst, Christoffer was part of an internet motorcycle forum, where he earned the nickname "Captain Tupperware," a reference to the brightly-colored Honda motorbike he loved.
When researching Christoffer's life, I found this quote, taken from his website, which I think truly defines his outlook on life:
Best of all..... Keep healthy, wealthy and wise. Your job is important, but don't live for just your job! Keep active and an open mind. Practice random acts of kindness. Compliment someone each day. Listen to all sides of a story before making a decision. Don't be afraid to admitting on being wrong. Learn the meaning of Life. Try, please try, to live within your means. Don't worry about saving money for your kids' college costs, it means lots more if they pay their own way. Save at least 15% of what you make for retirement. Try to meet someone new everyday. Ann Landers really means well. Plan for the future. Listen and surround yourself with positive people and speakers. Don't let the turkeys get you down. Write when you get work. :-) Take care, Christoffer
We should all be so lucky to know who we are, and what we want out of life. Ride on, Christoffer. You are remembered, today and always.
This tribute is part of Project 2,996, a cooperative online effort to keep alive the memories of the 2,996 victims of the 9/11/01 tragedy. See other participants, and their tributes to those lost, here.
Samantha Lightbourn-Allen, 36, was a Budget Analyst for the Department of the Army at the Pentagon on September 11, 2001. A devoted mother to John, Jr. (born in June 1985) and Samantha Brittnie (born on Christmas Day, 1988), she'd returned to work just four days earlier following a business trip and combined family vacation to Miami, Key West, and Disney World.
A devout Christian, Samantha sang in her church choir, supported her children's activities such as Girl Scouts, and looked forward to retiring from the government, as her father had done.
Samantha graduated from high school in 1982 in the top five percent of her class, and went on to major in Business Administration at Prince George's Community College.
From childhood, Samantha loved Disney World and amusement parks, and was described as full of life and telling jokes. Her twin sister, Rennea, nicknamed her "Sennea."
Samantha (front) and her twin sister,
Rennea, at 7 months of age. Photo source
Family members describe Samantha as carefree; not prone to worry. "She just felt when it was your time, it was your time and worrying about it wouldn't change things anyway," her mother, Rebecca Lightbourn said.
I remember Samantha Lightbourn-Allen, and pray for peace for her loved ones.
This tribute is part of Project 2,996, a cooperative online effort to keep alive the memories of the 2,996 victims of the 9/11/01 tragedy. See other participants, and their tributes to those lost, here.
Much like myself, Shannon Lewis Adams, 25, grew up in a small town (Star Lake, New York). Like mine, Shannon's graduating class was less than three dozen students. He had a longstanding dream to leave his small hometown, in search of something bigger.
That dream landed him on the 101st floor of Tower One in the World Trade Center, as a fixed-income account at Cantor Fitzgerald. His mother, Gwyn Adams, reported he was so proud of his new career in the big city, having come from a town without a single stoplight. He set up a bachelor pad with friends in Astoria, complete with a huge fish tank, a big-screen television and a wall full of music.
According to his father, Lew Adams, "He was going 100 miles an hour all the time, it seems like. The city seemed to satisfy that a lot better than the northern Adirondacks."
Perhaps, because I come from a tiny town with no stoplights, and graduated with a class of 24 students, I imagine the pride and feeling of success Shannon must have experienced when he arrived in New York City. I am glad he was able to reach for that dream, and saddened that his success was cut short. I hope, as Shannon's best friend, Brad Siskavich, suggests, family and friends are able to "...remember the positives as opposed to the fact that he's just not here anymore."
I know, for me, I picture Shannon's compassion and hard work. I imagine him playing hockey with friends. I envision how he made people smile, just by sharing his life and his heart. This tribute is part of Project 2,996, a cooperative online effort to keep alive the memories of the 2,996 victims of the 9/11/01 tragedy. See other participants, and their tributes to those lost, here.
To be honest, I chose the name CeeCee Lyles because our family nickname for Snugglebug is "SeeSee." I was initially compelled to write Mrs. Lyles's story simply because of her name, but what I found in my research was the story of a mother, a wife, and a hero.
CeeCee was a 33-year-old resident of Fort Myers, Florida who'd fulfilled a lifelong dream in becoming a flight attendant after years of police work that took her from patrol officer to detective. In her law enforcement work, she was respected for "for her willingness to tackle fleeing criminals." A single mother, CeeCee provided for her two sons by working multiple jobs while still finding time to volunteer for a Christian women's shelter. In 1997, she began a relationship with police dispatcher Lorne Lyles, and the two married in 2000. It was the second marriage for both of them, and Lorne brought his own two sons to the family, making CeeCee and Lorne the proud parents of four.
People described CeeCee as an easygoing woman who loved to talk and enjoyed people. She was thoughtful, kind and caring. How natural that when United Flight 93 was overtaken by hijackers, she'd reach out to her family. CeeCee's cell phone call to her husband reveals her professional training. She is calm, explaining the situation. Still, toward the end, the heart of a wife and mother comes through clearly - her words are tinged with emotion and love.
At 10:03:11, Flight 93 crashed near Shanksville, Pennsylvania, after an attempt by passengers and crew to reclaim the plane. It has been presumed that the intended target of the hijacked plane was the U.S. Capitol in Washington, D.C. Shortly before the crash, CeeCee called her husband again, telling him that passengers were preparing to force their way into the cockpit.
I imagine CeeCee Lyles passed on to heaven as she lived - taking care of others, calming and soothing them while remaining vigilant and seeing that an attempt at rescue was made.
Four sons, a loving husband and many co-workers, family members and friends were left behind to miss and remember CeeCee. I hope you'll remember not only this beautiful, brave woman, but her loved ones, as well, in your prayers.
Thank you, CeeCee, for your service and sacrifice. You are not forgotten.
This tribute is part of Project 2,996, a cooperative online effort to keep alive the memories of the 2,996 victims of the 9/11/01 tragedy. See other participants, and their tributes to those lost, here. "Like" The Gonzo Mama on Facebook, and don't forget to see what's cooking with Sexy Vegan Mama today!
On September 11, 2001, Krystine C. Bordenabe was a 33-year-old resident of Old Bridge, New Jersey, working in the south tower of the World Trade Center, and - at eight months pregnant - was looking forward to leaving her job after maternity leave to become a full-time mother to her new baby and then-13-year-old son named Andrew.
Krystine and her husband, Alfredo, had been married just over a year, and were excitedly awaiting the arrival of their first child together. Prior to their marriage, Krystine had been a devoted single mother to Andrew, and was counting down the weeks until she'd resign from her job as a sales assistant at Keefe, Bruyette & Woods to stay at home with her children.
Alfredo and Krystine dated a few times during high school, but lost touch afterward. Then, years later, Krystine attended a men's soccer game, at which Alfredo was playing. The two renewed their friendship, and married in 2000.
Krystine attended Chubb Institute in Jersey City, graduating as valedictorian. She loved helping others, being a mother, baking, cooking, and the occasional indulgence in a pair of stylish shoes.
A doting husband who looked after his wife with love and concern, Alfredo called his wife as he traveled to work the morning of September 11, 2001. He'd heard on the radio that a plane had crashed into one of the towers of the World Trade Center. Krystine assured him she was safe in the south tower, and that workers were being told to stay in the building.
Minutes later, a second plane - United Flight 175 - smashed into the south tower.
In a moment, Alfredo lost both his beloved wife and their unborn baby, and Andrew lost his mother and sibling. Please, remember Alfredo and Andrew in your prayers, as well as those who loved and cared for Krystine, and the child she carried with her to heaven.
This tribute is part of Project 2,996, a cooperative online effort to keep alive the memories of the 2,996 victims of the 9/11/01 tragedy. See other participants, and their tributes to those lost, here.
Norma Lang Steuerle, of Alexandria, Virgina, drove her convertible with the top down, relished a day at the beach, and loved reading and travel. She lived with an energy and zest that others admired.
Norma was 54 years old on September 11, 2001. A clinical psychologist working with women and children suffering with depression and ADHD, she was described as "a particularly gifted therapist" who deeply connected with her clients, putting them at ease and providing undivided attention.
While she was singularly-focused in her profession, friends and family describe her as constantly busy, doing everything with enthusiasm and purpose, whether she was volunteering for causes she believed in, dedicating time and talent to Blessed Sacrament Catholic Church, or attending sporting events when her daughters - Lynne and Kristin - were in school.
She attended Dayton University, then graduated at the top of her class from Carnegie Mellon University with a degree in psychology. She received a master's degree from Temple University, and her PhD. in social psychology from University of Wisconsin Madison in 1975.
According to friends, Norma met her husband, Gene, while attending Dayton. The two dated for a while, but Norma broke off the relationship, "left Dayton to be closer to another guy, and to attend Carnegie-Mellon." Apparently, after realizing the error of her ways - and giving full credit for Gene's persistence - the two were married after he returned from Vietnam in 1970.
The couple's first daughter, Kristin, was born in 1973, and their second, Lynne, followed in 1977.
Norma's family brought her great joy and pride, and she was excited to board American Airlines Flight 77, which would take her through the first leg of a trip during which she planned to meet up with her daughter, Kristin, a Navy doctor in Okinawa. She'd then connect with Gene, who was traveling in Japan on business. Together, the three planned to visit Thailand, where the couple would celebrate their 31st wedding anniversary.
Flight 77 was hijacked and, at 9:37 a.m. on September 11, 2001, crashed into the Pentagon.
Please pray for Norma's family and friends, who lost a vibrant part of their lives on that tragic day.
This tribute is part of Project 2,996, a cooperative online effort to keep alive the memories of the 2,996 victims of the 9/11/01 tragedy. See other participants, and their tributes to those lost, here.
Pendyala Vamsikrishna, "Vamsi" to friends, was 30 years old on September 11, 2001. A project manager for the consulting firm of DTI, he was a talented software developer.
Vamsi and his wife, Prasanna Kalahasthi, like most young couples, had dreams and plans for their future. Both from India, they'd moved to the United States to pursue education and career opportunities - Vamsi to study engineering, and Prasanna to attend USC as a grad student in the International Student Program for Foreign-Trained Dentists. Brought together by an arranged marriage, the two were lucky enough to truly find love and devotion in one another, and had been married two and a half years in September 2001. They'd planned to start a family, had received their green cards, and dove into their pursuits in the U.S.
A devoted employee known for his strong work ethic, Vamsi had been in Boston for business and ended up staying an extra day, missing his original flight. On Tuesday, September 11, he left a voicemail for Prasanna, telling her he'd be home to Los Angeles soon:
Vasmi never made it. His plane, American Airlines Flight 11, was the first to strike the World Trade Center, crashing into the north tower at 08:46:26.
On October 19, 2001, Prasanna took her own life, leaving behind notes and an audio recording for her family, stating she just couldn't go on without her husband.
I chose Vasmi's name blindly from a list. Within minutes, I knew I had to include his young wife - and the tragic end to both beautiful, promising lives - in this tribute. Please, pray for the families and friends of Vasmi and Prasanna. Years may have passed, but this loving couple must not be forgotten.
This tribute is part of Project 2,996, a cooperative online effort to keep alive the memories of the 2,996 victims of the 9/11/01 tragedy. See other participants, and their tributes to those lost, here.
Paige Farley-Hackel of Newton, Massachusetts was a motivational speaker and writer, on the verge of her dreams. Her new radio program, "Spiritually Speaking," was preparing to hit the air, and she had lofty goals of appearing on the Oprah Winfrey Show - or of becoming Oprah's competition. She had a Master's degree in substance abuse counseling, and was a tireless advocate for the Salvation Army.
In keeping with her passion for spiritual growth, 46-year-old Paige was headed to California for a conference at Deepak Chopra's Center for Well Being on September 11, 2001. She was traveling with her best friend, Ruth Magdaline McCourt, and McCourt's four-year-old daughter, Juliana. Together, they'd celebrate Paige's certification at the Center for completion of the Debbie Ford Shadow Process and take Juliana ("Miss J") to Disneyland.
The group ended up flying out of Boston on different airlines through the use of frequent flier miles - Paige on American Airlines Flight 11, and Ruth and Miss J on United Flight 175.
Flight 11 crashed into the north tower of the World Trade Center, followed by Flight 175's collision with the south tower, minutes later.
As USA Today noted, "Ruth Clifford McCourt and Paige Farley Hackel were inseparable in life. Tuesday, in a fluke of airline ticketing, they became inseparable in death."
Paige Farley-Hackel with Juliana and Ruth McCourt Photo source
Family, friends, supporters and loved ones have not allowed Paige's untimely death to derail her passions. They've established the Paige Farley Hackel Free Care Fund, which provides addiction treatment at no cost to those most in need. In 2007, the Paige Farley Hackel Memorial Playground was dedicated at the Salvation Army Children's Learning Center in Dorchester, Massachusetts.
In my research on Paige Farley-Hackel, one of the most profound and all-encompassing statements was what she wrote in her 1973 yearbook:
There is no duty we so much underrate as the duty of being happy.
Paige knew changing lives begins with changing oneself. She bettered herself to better the world. I am proud to remember Paige. Please say a prayer for her family and those she loved so dearly.
This tribute is part of Project 2,996, a cooperative online effort to keep alive the memories of the 2,996 victims of the 9/11/01 tragedy. See other participants, and their tributes to those lost, here.
This tribute is respectfully reposted from September 11, 2010.
Shekhar Kumar was a 30 year-old programmer analyst at Cantor Fitzgerald in the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001. He'd been married in November 2000, and didn't have the opportunity to celebrate his first wedding anniversary.
On Shekhar's Legacy.com page, friends describe him as "a really great friend," "energetic, enthusiastic and optimistic."
Please say a prayer for Shekhar, his family, and the young widow left to grieve for him.
This tribute is part of Project 2,996, a cooperative online effort to keep alive the memories of the 2,996 victims of the 9/11/01 tragedy. See other participants, and their tributes to those lost, here.
This tribute is respectfully reposted from September 11, 2010.
Andre G. Fletcher was a 37-year-old firefighter with Rescue 5, an emergency response unit with NYFD. Andre and his twin brother, Zack, also a firefighter, responded to the crisis on September 11, 2001. Andre was killed in the first tower collapse at the World Trade Center.
Zack described he and his brother as "type A-plus" personalities, thriving on action, adventure, danger and excitement. The brothers last spoke as Andre raced toward the burning towers. Zack told him he'd be there soon, to work alongside him, and not to do anything stupid - "Don't be a hero," he told his brother.
But Andre Fletcher was a hero, through and through. And he was a man of action. When he joined the fire department in 1994 and learned they didn't have a baseball team, he started one. He played on the department football team. I imagine him playing catch with his son, Blair, 12 years old in 2001.
I imagine, when Andre arrived on the scene at the World Trade Center, he never had a second thought about being a hero. It seemed to be what came naturally to him, and that, quite simply, is how I imagine him; a hero in death - and in life.
Say a prayer for Zack, who must certainly feel the loss of his twin each day. For Andre's parents, Lunsford and Monica, Jamaican immigrants who must be incredibly proud of their sons, but mourn the loss of one of the twins. For Blair, who lost a father at that all-important time of adolescence when a boy needs his father's guidance and patience. Say a prayer for the memory of Andre G. Fletcher, killed in the line of duty, doing what he lived for.
Never forget.
This tribute is part of Project 2,996, a cooperative online effort to keep alive the memories of the 2,996 victims of the 9/11/01 tragedy. See other participants, and their tributes to those lost, here.
This tribute is respecfully reposted from September 11, 2010. Please note: I was heartbreakingly unable to find a photo of Matthew Gerard Leonard. If any friends or family stop by to read this post, first, I hope you'll read in the following words my respect, care and admiration for such a wonderful man. Secondly, if you have a photo you wish to donate to this post, please contact me at mama@thegonzomama.com so I may add Mr. Leonard's image to this tribute.
Matthew Gerard Leonard was a 38-year-old lawyer working as director of litigation at Cantor Fitzgerald in the South Tower of the World Trade Center when tragedy struck on September 11, 2001. He was husband to Yolanda, brother to Helen, and father to Christina, seven months old at the time.
Matthew was a devout Catholic, steadfastly involved in his church. He was compassionate attorney, with an extensive history of pro bono work for those who could not afford legal help. A good singer, he sang Christmas carols in the hallways of his office and with the homeless on the streets of New York.
He was an early riser - always wanting to get started on work before the busyness of the day set in, and September 11, 2001 was no exception. He awakened, got ready for work, and headed out the door. His wife, Yolanda, looked at the clock as he left. It read 7:11 a.m.
How could Yolanda have known he wouldn't return that day?
People described Matthew as "kind," "a saint," "loving," "wonderful," and so much more. Remember Matthew Gerard Butler, a compassionate attorney, a loving husband, a doting father, a son, a brother, a friend. Let his memory, and the mark he made on the world, not be forgotten.
This tribute is part of Project 2,996, a cooperative online effort to keep alive the memories of the 2,996 victims of the 9/11/01 tragedy. See other participants, and their tributes to those lost, here.
This tribute is respectfully reposted from September 11, 2010.
Kenneth Watson was laid to rest on November 9, 2001 - almost two months after terrorists decimated the World Trade Center, where his body was finally found. He served as a firefighter with Engine Company 214.
Engine Company 214 responded to the devastation caused when the towers were struck. By mid-day, several members of the crew were missing. Kenneth was among them. The company's remaining men searched through the rubble and chaos with their bare hands - they had no tools.
In the days and weeks that followed, Engine 214 members continued to search for their fallen comrades, and became part of the bucket brigade, filling and passing buckets of debris from the wreckage along a line to be dumped into trucks, then hauled off to Staten Island.
By early October, there was still no sign or information about the fallen members of Engine Company 214. Then, the crew received word that a shield badge from a 214 helmet (belonging to Lieutenant Christopher Sullivan) had been found - but no body was recovered to go along with it.
October 31, the body of one of the company's men (Michael Roberts) was recovered, along with shields from two more 214 helmets (belonging to Carl Bedigian and John Florio).
By this time, enough rubble had been cleared that recovery crews were finally able to get to where Engine 214's men had been - on the first floor near the elevator, waiting to go up to rescue people.
The surviving members of Engine 214 dug and tunneled and worked, moving the debris, concrete, blocks of marble and ash, until they recovered each of their fallen, the last being Kenneth Watson.
It is a long-held tradition that each company recovers their own men. It is a tradition of honor, of pride, of sacrifice, of brotherhood.
Each of the fallen heroes of Engine 214 deserve so much more than respect and honor. They deserve for their stories to be remembered and told again and again.
For Kenneth's story, I looked to the people who knew and loved him, and their comments on his tribute page.
Kenneth was a loving husband to Susan, and devoted father to his five children. Friends and family describe him as brave, generous, and heroic.
Attempts to find more, more details, more stories, more specifics about Kenneth's life fell short. It saddens me that somewhere, today, a wife and children grieve Kenneth's loss, and I can't share their story, can't tell how he met and married Susan, how he felt the first time he held each of his children, how he became so devoted to committing his life to serving others.
But, really, that's the enormity of it. 2,996 lives were lost on September 11, 2001. So, so many stories I'll never know, so many names I won't be able to remember, so many prayers left to say.
Never forget.
This tribute is part of Project 2,996, a cooperative online effort to keep alive the memories of the 2,996 victims of the 9/11/01 tragedy. See other participants, and their tributes to those lost, here.
Mr. Wright originally wrote this tribute for Deborah on 9/11/09. He posted it on a blog we set up for our business, but never ended up using. Therefore, it gets relatively no traffic. I wanted to move Deborah's tribute here, where thousands can stumble upon it and say a prayer in her memory.
Deborah Merrick 45 years old Resident of New York Worked for the Port Authority Victim of World Trade Center Attack 9/11 Appears to have passed away subsequent to 9/11
I looked and searched for details of your death. I looked and searched for details of your life. Unfortunately, not much was to be found.
Forty-five years old is too young to die, but certainly there was time to live.
There must be a story there. There must be a story to tell.
I wonder: What if...?
What if your story is never told?
Then it occurs to me...
How many other stories never get told?
Deborah, I want to recognize you.
In the end, you are not a story. You are not a statistic. You are not a name. You are a person; you have a soul. You had a life and that life was cut short because of 9/11.
Deborah Merrick, we remember you by name. As we remember your death, we remember to celebrate life.
This tribute is part of Project 2,996, a cooperative online effort to keep alive the memories of the 2,996 victims of the 9/11/01 tragedy. See other participants, and their tributes to those lost, here.
This post was originally published on 9/11/09 on Citizen Gonzo. I've moved it here because I haven't blogged at Citizen Gonzo for a long, long time, and I get thousands more hits on this blog than on CG. I think Joseph deserves those thousands of views and more, don't you?
Electrician Joseph DiPilato, age 57, was working in Tower 2 of the World Trade Center when Tower 1 was struck on September 11, 2001. As he prepared to leave the building, he called his wife and childhood sweetheart, Maria, to tell her he was safe. He was last seen in an elevator, intending to evacuate.
Joseph was a romantic fellow who took his wife to dinner every Friday and held her hand as they spent summers strolling the boardwalk in Ocean City, Maryland. He took pride in maintaining his backyard, patio and swimming pool. He coached and managed his sons' Little League team. He was, above all else, a husband and father.
Neighbors like Mrs. Phyllis Buono grew to appreciate the blooms Joseph planted and look forward to the seeing the flowers he would select each season. "He set that yard up like it was a resort," Mrs. Buono said. "In the spring the flower pots would explode with blossoms." Phyllis's husband, Mike Buono, enjoyed working on cars with Joseph.
Maria and Joseph grew up together in Little Italy, where Joseph's childhood friends gave him the nickname "Joey Brillo," a nod to his short, wiry hair.
I didn't know Joseph DiPilato, but I am touched by the words of those who did:
"He would do anything for me. He cared about me and I always came first," said his wife, Maria.
"We loved him more than anything and he's going to be missed by a lot of people," said his son, Joseph. "He just meant everything to us."
"I remember Brillo as a kid, a year older than me. He was the best basketball player in Columbus Park on Mulberry Street. He gave me great pointers on getting the ball through the hoop. Everyone in the neighborhood loved Brillo. He was a great role model in a tough neighborhood. A natural athlete, terrific sense of humor and a decent human being. A guy like him is surely missed by many," said childhood friend Anthony Venturato
And this, dated August 19, 2008, from his daughter-in-law, Andrea:
Dearest Dad,
It has been almost 7 years since you have been with us. We miss you tremendously. Something wonderful happened yesterday that I wanted to share. Your granddaughter Olivia typed in what she thought was her brothers name & brought up this website. As soon as she saw your picture she screamed with such excitement and said, "Mommy hurry come see Grandpa on the computer". It stopped me in my tracks & touched my heart more than you could ever know. All I could think about was how much you could not wait to be a grandfather. And little did we know on the last night that I was with you, I was already pregnant with your first grandchild. Leo & I would have given anything to be able to tell you in person you were going to finally be a Grandpa.
Olivia talks about her "Grandpa in heaven" all the time. She wishes she could have known you. You would be so blown away by Olivia. She has such a huge heart just as you did.
As Olivia & Joseph grow up they will know everything there is to know about their very special "Grandpa in heaven". We all miss you terribly!
All our Love to you in Heaven, Leo, Andrea, Olivia & Joseph
Please light a candle for Joseph, his family and those who loved him. Say a prayer for the father, husband, neighbor and friend who lost his life on September 11, 2001.
Never forget.
This tribute is part of Project 2,996, a cooperative online effort to keep alive the memories of the 2,996 victims of the 9/11/01 tragedy. See other participants, and their tributes to those lost, here.
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Raising kids is like living in a frat house. There are too many all-nighters, there is never enough coffee or Top Ramen, the toilets are never clean, it's no surprise if someone is puking and you never know who is going to be in your bed when you wake up.
Utne Reader said of my essay, Everything I Need to Know About Motherhood I Learned from Animal House "...delightful... Christina-Marie Wright pretty much nails it."
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Put the kids to bed, pour a cup of coffee and settle in for some laughs!
When it rains in D.C., it RAINS. Plan to bring a small, portable umbrella or to purchase one during your stay. For an extended forecast, go here.
Though your schedule is likely to be busy, plan to use your downtime to see some of the great landmarks, history and culture of our national capital. Head out to Arlington, Virginia. Take a tour 
Or, at least, they should be. D.C. is a walkin' kind of town, and comfortable shoes are a must. If you're attending business functions, tote a canvas bag (get a FREE one at the trade show!) that you can toss your "professional" shoes into, but stride to your meeting in sneaks. Trust me on this, folks. I've got blister scars to prove it.
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