We talked for awhile, this man, whose name I heard as Matt, and I. He was relatively drunk but so, so pleasant...and that accent! My biggest concern was, interestingly, not the drinking. I could excuse that because his family were over from England, and it was their last night, and you know how the Irish can drink (somehow that was comforting excuse. Hindsight!). No, my biggest concern was his swearing. I'd never heard those few words used so effortlessly in many parts of speech in my life.
Tuesday, September 11, 2001, was one of those late summer days that help you endure the brutal, long winters we have in North Dakota. The sky was Robin’s egg blue, the glorious clouds were like cotton balls glued on to construction paper and the sun was shining, reaching every nook and cranny of our apartment. I had survived taking my son to his first day of Kindergarten. And now we were three or so weeks into the ritual of school mornings. Eighteen years ago, Quinn and I were getting ready to walk to school. We were switching back and forth between Dragon Tails and Good Morning America. I had it on GMA…