So beautiful and poignant

I came across this poem while listening to a Yom Kippur service coming from the computer in the living room as it was being live-streamed (the house is rather small, so it's easy to hear, even in my room, which is why I usually listen to my headphones if my friend is on Zoom with friends or classes). It was read before the names of those who had passed over the last year. It's lovely. It is by Rabbi Sylvan Kamen and Rabbi Jack Reimer:

We Remember Them

In the rising of the sun and in its going down,
We remember them.
In the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter,
We remember them.
In the opening of the buds and in the rebirth of spring,
We remember them.

In the blueness of the sky and in the warmth of summer,
We remember them.
In the rustling of the leaves and in the beauty of the autumn,
We remember them.

In the beginning of the year and when it ends,
We remember them.
When we are weary and in need of strength,
We remember them.

When we are lost and sick at heart,
We remember them.
When we have decisions that are difficult to make,
We remember them.

When we have achievements that are based on theirs,
We remember them.
So long as we live, they too shall live,
For they are now a part of us,

As we remember them.

Also, can I just take a moment to mention that the 23rd Psalm is absolutely wonderful when sung in the original Hebrew? English does not serve it justice.

I actually read last night, and finished a book

that I'd just been on chapter three when I started. It's The Paper Magician by Charlie N. Holmberg, and it was an excellent light read, and exactly what I needed while recovering from this crud. This afternoon I went to the library and picked up the other two in the series. A little while ago, out of curiosity, I looked to see how much they were on Amazon, and while the paperbacks are quite inexpensive, the Kindle series (all three books) was only $4.05. So I got them on that, because I decided it would be better to hoard electronic books rather than paper ones. :) But really, I want to read the next one, The Glass Magician tonight. I'll read the physical book, as it brings me a bit more pleasure to turn the pages, then take the others back to the library so someone else can enjoy them, and finish up the series on the Kindle with The Master Magician.

I took A to work early this morning, after calling him to wake him up (but he went back to bed), but we got there just in time. That was 8 am. Then I got home and proceeded to sleep until about 11:30 am, and YKWIA called (he'd just gotten up again, too), to see if I could run to the store for a couple of things, that turned into a fairly good-sized grocery run, involving two stores (why are pearl onions suddenly impossible to find?) Then I got back and we watched a couple of episodes of 'Trial & Error' on Hulu (which is hilarious, and expiring, so while he's seen them all, we've got about half left for me to watch in about 11 days. But they're short.)

I came home, rested for about an hour (I didn't actually go to sleep, and I'm only tired because of the crud, but I took some medicine and listened to some music for awhile). I finally started to drift off, but the music was rather peppy, so I got up and excavated approximately half of the bedroom this evening. I have three tubs on the bed--recyclables, dirty clothes, clothes that are clean but need pressing, and then I've folded some of the cold-weather stuff I haven't been wearing that need to be put away and they're piled between the tubs. I also have a pile of bedding (there are a lot of pillows and a very warm comforter that came with my 'bed in a bag', and I can't sleep with all of them on the bed at night time).

I have a few other things to go through, some books stacked, a couple of loose piles of things, and such, but I made quite a bit of progress. Tomorrow I can launder the dirty clothes. I can press the ones that need it, and hang up the ones in the hang up pile. The cold-weather things are going to be put away into some easy-open tubs I have, and stored in the bottom of one of the bedroom closets. A few things need to be put away in the chest-of-drawers. The last couple of things I should do tonight, and move the tubs off the bed, and then I'll be able to sleep. I'm not finished in there tonight, yet. I just got overly hot and had to sit under the fans for a bit. I hate how tired I feel, and how winded I get whenever I try to do anything. I still cough a lot.

When I got home, I watered the outside plants and deadheaded the spent blooms. They're growing nicely. I also watered everything inside as well. I was supposed to do that yesterday, and didn't. Just like today or yesterday I should have done a water change for the fish tank of about 10-15% of the water. I'll try to do that tomorrow. The fish seem happy, at least, and I have done it weekly for a couple of weeks since everything was set back to full-functionality.

It's almost dark. I can't really celebrate mother's day, but I thought I'd light a candle for my mom tonight and let it burn for awhile. I'm thinking of her, anyway. I miss her. We didn't always have the best of relationships, and once upon a time we were too close, really, but I miss her nonetheless.

Okay, I guess it's back to work on the bedroom. I'll have to switch Pandora back to the bedroom TV. Good night.

A look at spaces left behind

In the musical Les Misérables, Marius sings of the 'empty chairs and empty tables' now that his friends from the student rebellion have died.

Photographer Ashley Gilbertson has taken photos of the bedrooms left behind by soldiers who died in Iraq and Afghanistan. These poignant reminders of loss show the personalities of their former occupants, now lost to the world.

The Shrine Down the Hall

The New York Times Magazine put twenty of her photographs together as a slideshow, along with the name, age, place, and circumstances of death for each one. Each name links to a picture of the person. My favourite, the one that really got me the most, was that of Private First Class Richard P. Langenbrunner, of Fort Wayne, Indiana, who died on April 17, 2007 in Rustamiyah, Iraq, of a suicide. He was 19 years old. His room has posters of Stargate SG-1 and Lord of the Rings; he has a replica of Bilbo Baggins' sword 'Sting' on his wall as well. There is a telescope in the window, pointed towards the heavens. The room strikes you as that of someone curious, imaginative, and ready to explore.

The photos are stark, black-and-white. They resonate with emptiness and remembrance, as shrines to loved ones now gone. A daughter's stuffed animals, a son's baseball trophies--the details of the things we surround ourselves with--they are all that remain. The photos themselves are moving, and the details worth contemplating.

What would remain of you when you die? How would your family remember you?

I read about this photoessay on Brandon's blog. Thanks, Brandon.

Seventy years ago today

war was officially declared in response to Germany's invasion of Poland on September 1st, and thus World War II began. A solemn moment of remembrance for the millions that died is in order. According to one website, an estimated 48,231,700 people died, including both military and civilians--with the majority of deaths being civilian. Think of that...nearly 50 million, enough to populate six metropolises the size of New York City.

Moments of silence, time of remembrance

Seven years ago, at this moment, the first of two American Airlines planes hit the World Trade Centre.

8:45 am American Airlines Flight 11 out of Boston, Massachusetts, crashes into the north tower of the World Trade Centre.

9:03 a.m.: United Airlines Flight 175 from Boston, crashes into the south tower of the World Trade Centre.

9:43 a.m.: American Airlines Flight 77 crashes into the Pentagon.

10:10 a.m.: United Airlines Flight 93 crashes in Somerset County, Pennsylvania, southeast of Pittsburgh.

[Source: CNN's September 11: Chronology of Terror]

Four planes; about 3,000 lives, and more still killed in the wars spawned in the name of those attacks. Try to find some way to remember those who lost their lives that day, even if it's a small prayer or a moment of silence.