The Summerhouse

My turtles have their very own summer house. It's actually a turtle tub, a large black plastic tub I keep in the garage. I got it so I can put them in there for a few hours each week while I'm cleaning their glass tank upstairs. They have grown too large to fit in the little cardboard carrier boxes I brought them home in. And they hated being shut in those anyway. This way they have freedom and can be comfortable for as long as I need to finish cleaning.

The turtle tub is meant to simulate the environment they would have if they lived in a pond. A pool of water, a ramp for them to climb out and a platform for them to bask in the heat (provided in this case by a lamp, I bring the lamps from upstairs so I don't have to keep two sets). Pretty similar to their tank setup, but they don't need a water heater. It's already plenty hot in the garage. I'm guessing in the winter I'll have to bring the water heater down as well, but for now it's fine without it. I have a spare filter going which they probably don't really need for such a short time, but it may help a bit keeping the water circulating and filtering out at least a bit of the waste they produce.

I got the second filter to see if it worked better on my tank. I've tried 3 so far, and the original one still seems to do the job best. At least it keeps working even when full of muck. The others got clogged and stopped working within a couple of days. It's frustrating because I've spent a lot of money trying to get the best setup to keep things clean and the turtles happy. But they are mischievous and messy little critters and not much keeps them from mucking things up. They like to mess with the filter tube, turning it in the opposite direction. They have detached the tube assembly from the filter housing a few times which stops it working. I keep telling them they need to leave it alone. And though they have excellent hearing, strangely they don't seem to hear my admonitions.

I love them though. They are not cuddly, but when I can watch them climb out of the water, basking in superman pose, neck and limbs stretched out, they look so vulnerable and beautiful.

Sunrise

Of course I remember where I was. Don't we all? It was a Tuesday. I was in my apartment in Provo, UT getting ready to go teach my freshman English students at BYU. I didn't often turn the TV on in the morning, but I did for some reason that day. The plane had already hit the first tower. It was just after 7:00 a.m. MST (9:00 a.m. in New York). It was one of those morning shows and at first I wasn't sure if they were showing a clip from a new movie or if this was really happening. Or if it might be a terrible accident. While I was watching, the second plane hit. There was no denying now that this was real and intentional. I sat down. In shock. What was I doing? What should I be doing? All I could do, was watch my hometown under attack. And then there was the Pentagon. And the plane that went down in Pennsylvania.

Memories are fuzzy at this point. I know I got to school for my 8:00 class. But neither me nor my students knew what to do. Should we have a lesson? Go home? The class next door had a TV so we peeked in at the news as the other class was watching transfixed. There wasn't enough room for all of us to join the other class. So we went back to our room. Did we attempt a lesson? I honestly can't recall. I'm pretty sure I let the students go early so they could get to a TV or otherwise follow events. I went next to where my creative writing class met, and our professor gathered us together and took us upstairs to the English Dept. lounge. We were watching in there when I saw the tower collapse. I think it had already happened at that point, but we were seeing it replayed as the footage would be for days and weeks to come. The president of the university cancelled classes for the rest of the day, and there was a prayer session in the Marriott Center for all the students. Speakers came up to lead us in prayer, praying for the victims as well as asking the Lord to give us strength to weather this ordeal. I think it lasted about an hour, by the time we all filed in and then out.

When I got home I called my dad. My parents had moved to Vegas by then, so he no longer worked at JFK. But I thought he might hear something, anything at the airport that would shed some light on things. Air travel would be suspended. Schools closed. Baseball games canceled. It was all news all the time on TV.

Besides my friends and ward members in Provo, I sought out my friends online. Jules was in New York, I think it was a while before we heard from her. The rest of us met on the message boards and in the chat room. I remember writing to Skip seeking some kind of comfort. We were just in the beginning of our correspondence then. But Skip's wisdom and compassion were something for me to hold on to. And I began to pour my feelings out to him. He became sort of a lifeline. I waited for his messages each day. And I continued to rely on him as my primary sounding board. It helped that he, and Jazzie and our other friends in the U.K. and Europe could see what was going on in America and expressed their horror and sympathy and also their calmness in some respects as places like London were no stranger to terrorist attacks, and they were there to say, it's bad now, but it'll get better.

Later, bomb attacks in Madrid in 2004 and in London on 7 July of 2005, and many others, showed that the danger was everywhere. Before 9/11, we hadn't seen anything like this in the U.S. But now we were aware, as our friends in other parts of the world always have been, that this could happen again, anywhere, at any time, to anyone. Security measures changed at airports and other places too. What would have been considered great inconvenience before was now a fact of life. We could never go back to the time when we always felt safe.

Yet, life had to go on. It was early December of 2001 when I first got back to New York. I went to my friend Alina's wedding, and a Starsailor concert with Jules. New York had gotten back to business. But it was still in the air, debris blowing all over the city from the big hole in the ground. Or just the psychic debris. I never went to Ground Zero. I still haven't to this day even though I've been back to New York a few times since. I went instead to stay with my friend Hina and her family. I went instead to Citi Field to see my Mets play. I went instead on a Duck Boat tour of Manhattan. And I went instead to my 20-year high school reunion.

In February of 2002, Salt Lake City welcomed the world for the Olympic Winter Games. There was more security, sure. But we got on with it, and enjoyed the achievements of athletes from countries near and far. That summer I took my first trip overseas since 9/11, to teach in Belgium and to travel around Europe and the U.K. I met more friends, and went to concerts and taught kids and just had a great time. I went back to London in 2007 with my parents and had a great time then too.

In the years since 9/11 I've finished school and taught more students. I've had relationships and changed jobs and moved house a few times. I've had worries and felt anger and seen more sadness, but some happiness too. Ten years on, everyday the sun still comes up.

Through a Long and Sleepless Night

A few weeks ago, I underwent a sleep study to see if my insomnia had some discernible cause. I checked into a sleep clinic and got wired up before going to bed for the night. It was weird having all these sensors applied to my scalp and my face and body. I must have looked like a cyborg. Then I was plugged in to a unit next to my bed in the little bedroom. Otherwise it was like any other comfy bedroom. A nice big bed with color coordinated bedding and lots of pillows. There was even a nice chair in the corner in case I brought a companion to sit with me overnight. I didn't though, it was just me.

My sleep technician was called Edwin and he talked me through the process after wiring me up. It was probably around 9:30 when I got into bed. And I'd be there until 5:00 when I'd be woken up. Needless to say, I didn't need to be woken up. I was already awake. I did sleep some of the time, I remember because I had dreams. But I think I was pretty restless, tossing and turning the rest of the time. I rang for Edwin at around 2:30 so I could use the bathroom. He had to come and unhook me. I used the bathroom, carrying the harness for all my sensors, it was hanging around my neck actually. When I was done and Edwin was hooking me back up, I told him that I'd thought it was much later than 2:30. And that I'd been awake already for quite a while. He said, "I know." Monitoring me from a computer, he could tell if I was awake or asleep, if my eyes were open or closed, if I was in R.E.M. sleep, how my breathing was and how much I moved around. He said I kicked a lot, and that I woke myself up when I did it. Otherwise he wasn't really allowed to tell me much about the results of the test. It would be a few weeks for the data to be analyzed and sent to my doctor at the VA.

At 5:00 I was groggy despite having been awake for a while. Kind of like when I get up for work in the morning. I was definitely not feeling rested. I know it was partially because of the odd situation, being wired up and having to stay on my back. But it didn't feel that different from a usual night for me. Often awake, restless legs, and a brain that just wouldn't turn off. I remember having songs in my head. The Glee versions of "To Sir with Love," and Bohemian Rhapsody," just over and over again.

When I got up, the sensors all had to come off. The ones in my scalp left a waxy sort of glue in my hair and the ones on my face hurt when Edwin tore them off like band-aids, quicker better than slower. I got dressed and called Mom to come get me. When we got home, I went back to bed, gluey hair and all. I stayed in bed pretty much all of the morning, sleeping a bit here and there, but mostly just resting, glad to be back in my own bed.

I wonder what the data said. I haven't been to my doctor yet for the results. I wonder how much could really be picked up by those sensors of what was going on in my head. I know it couldn't record my thoughts, but just the activity of my brain I guess. I wonder what goes on in there. I look forward to finding out.