We all remember where we were on September 11, 2001.
I was in my kitchen making toast for my son when the first plane hit. My eyes were glued to CNN, just like yours.
When the second plane hit, my kitchen burst into flames.
A piece of bread had gotten stuck in the toaster, and ignighted. I realized our country was under attack, just as I turned to see a wall of flames engulf the honey oak cabinets of my kitchen, and spread across the ceiling like a hungry monster.
It was beyond bizarre.
Luckily, my husband is a fire bug. Our home has five fire extinguishers, three smoke alarms, and a fire escape ladder, strategically placed around the house.
I had always wondered if I would be able to figure out how to work the darn things in the middle of an emergency. Lo and behold, I did. I remember looking at my son as I put out the flames, positioning myself between him and the danger. His mouth was agape, and his eyes were fixed upon me, as I battled the burning blaze. I think my little man viewed me as Super Mom that day.
My husband rushed home, and we began the process of sanding and restaining the cabinets, and cleaning the smoke scarred ceiling while watching the events of our nation unfold.
My son was wide eyed in disbelief when it happened. He was only four at the time, but he still remembers that day, and often points to the still visible scars on our cabinets as a reminder.
Our country experienced a collective consciousness on 911, and even though I was safe in my home, in far off Ohio, the flames and terror were right there, before my waking eyes.
I really do believe, deep down in my heart, that the fire in my home was a manifestation of the larger energies at play, on that fateful, horrible day.