Remember the fallen.

Blue sky Tuesday morning here in Melbourne. Wish it were raining.

Before.

Construction of the World Trade Center began in 1966 and the towers were officially opened in 1973 when I was 7 years old. I can't claim to have many memories of seeing the buildings going up, but me and my 4th grade classmates got a spectacular view during a visit to the Statue of Liberty in 1976 (I have photos, but they're back in the States). I also remember the hubbub surrounding the North Tower becoming the tallest building in the world, passing the Empire State Building in the process and garnering snickers to the effect of 'They're tall, but they ain't no Empire State'. When I worked in lower Manhattan WTC was where I took the PATH train and walked through the Financial District to my office in and art deco building on Exchange Place. It was part of my commute. Until it wasn't.

The NY Times has a typically authoritative 9/11 section -- I came across these photos in a remarkable online photo album called The Towers' Rise and Fall.
9 October 1970
12 July 1971
3 April 1973
29 November 1973
4 July 1986
The towers from the NJ meadowlands.
The observation deck in December 2000.
10 September 2011

Remember the fallen.

Each was taller than the towers they died in.

'Justice has been done.'

President Obama just addressed the world via the White House to announce the killing of Osama bin Laden by a small US military force in Pakistan.

My reaction was visceral, and surprising, at least to myself. Using wi-fi at the St Kilda library I caught a posting on Facebook by a friend in NYC that read 'We got Osama'. Ba-Boom. Tore through the internet for details. Palms sweaty, heart racing, I logged onto the White House website and awaited the president's address while Facebook went berserk with jubilation. Finally, this:
Nothing partisan. An intelligent man sharing news that a majority of US citizens have yearned to hear since that terrible day in 2001.

Today was the day. A damn fine day.

Remember the fallen.

Some gave all ...

In Sigatoka after picking green pumpkins barefoot as the heavens turned the farm into a lake of mud yesterday and this morning. Learned that driving through Fijian mud is like traversing ice: Hold the wheel lightly and visualize where you want to go -- mechanical attempts are futile. Delivered four bags of perfect produce to the market, where I just bought mangoes, googoolas and buja for Nani.

Fiji lays just west of the international dateline. Its sunrise is the world's earliest, meaning I was among the first to wake to a combination of calendar letters and numbers that has scarred many souls.

This morning, feet deep in Fijian Island mud, my heart recalled the concrete, glass and steel of the toughest island on the planet: My beloved Manhattan Island.

Remember the fallen.

Thank God It's ...

... the day after Jerry Falwell died:

Falwell, a large man whose preacherly voice and cocksure confidence could drive his detractors into paroxysms of rage, had a penchant for combative comments. Perhaps his most provocative came Sept. 13, 2001, when he appeared on The 700 Club, the Rev. Pat Robertson's TV show, and blamed pagans, abortionists, feminists, gays, the ACLU and others for Sept. 11, 2001.

"I point the finger in their face and say, 'You helped this happen,'" he said.

Nothin' like good ol' fat Southern white man-brand of Christianity. A faith-based fraud. A creep. Excuse me ... A very dead creep.