Byzantium's Shores: chronicling the misadventures of an overalls-clad hippie

Six months.

I'm amazed that it has been that long. I was getting in my car and on my way to work when I heard the news on the radio: an airplane had struck the World Trade Center; details were still sketchy and more would be said as they became available. I was envisioning a Piper Cub or some such thing, not a jetliner. And certainly not both buildings being hit. I switched to NPR, and they hadn't broken the story yet either; Morning Edition's Bob Edwards finally said something about both buildings being hit while I was sitting in a drive-thru, waiting for a bagel. It is that incongruity which strikes me to this day: learning of what is perhaps the pivotal historical event of our time in so mundane a setting. Of course, there is nothing unique in that; in fact, it's just one more thing that ties the generations together. My mother learned of JFK's death while she was upstairs folding the sheets.