This is always a somber day when I think about all that went before, and after it. All lives — at least in the U.S. and in some other western nations too — redefined by this single day.
My sons and all those other mothers and fathers, wives, husbands, brothers, sisters, sons and daughters at the mercy of fate and the heavens. The brave and principled who stepped up and heeded the call. The unfortunate “others” – non-westerners feared for their differences and clustered with the “them” against us.
And so I paint. And write. And avoid. For copies, notecards and more cynically commercial products.