My Home Away

©2001 by Kathleen Helen Strom

It was September, 2001 in Manitoba. We were enjoying a rare, fine autumn. The leaves were just beginning to turn colour. The surrounding lakes were glowing bowls of reflections. The days were warm and golden. And tall spikes of blue delphinium raised their heads for a second showing of colours.

Elwood and I were busy with all the various jobs of home and garden that mark the end of summer; the storing of deck furniture; the clearing of spent foliage from the flower beds and planters; draining and cleaning the fountain; servicing the car for its annual 2,500 miles on the highway; and a day set aside to bottle the white wine that we'd started in the last week of August. On the kitchen counter our lists of reminders grew longer every day as we approached the time to close the house for the winter. Soon we would be crossing the border on our annual snowbird run to escape the rigours of winter. In sunny Arizona our little trailer home was waiting.

On the morning of September 11 the telephone rang. It was Val, our daughter in Calgary. "Mom, have you heard the news?" My heart sank. Oh God, what's happened? "Turn on your TV to CNN right away. There's been a terrorist attack in the United States."

And so began a vigil that lasted for days as we watched the horror unfold in New York City. It was Unreal. It was Surreal. It was Beyond Comprehension. For days on end nothing else mattered. It was as if the world stopped turning.

We watched over and over again, the fiery explosions, as the jets hit their targets. We watched as the Pentagon burned. We heard the screams of disbelief from people on the streets below. We watched with them, the unforgettable implosion that followed, as the mighty towers of The Trade Centre pancaked, floor upon floor, into a pile of rubble. We listened to broadcasters talking. Endlessly talking. We saw rescue efforts begin with great hope, then wear thin with the passing of days as the cameras rolled on the Trade Centre disappearing. And the Pentagon burning.

We saw people running in terror as smoke and debris enveloped them. We shed tears for the heroism of the police and firemen, just doing their job. But, at what God-Almighty cost? We watched the families with signs and pictures, desperately searching for loved ones, who unbelievably left for work in the morning and never came home that night. And we sat in a daze of grey depression, like mourners at a funeral. For all those people who simply disappeared. While Osama bin Laden and the Taliban became household names. And the cameras rolled. And the broadcasters talking. Endlessly talking.

Eventually, inevitably, the world started turning again. We had holiday plans for the month of October. California and Disneyland with Val and Shaun, our nine-year old grandson. A little boy's dream vacation, planned months ago. But now, briefly, a question mark hung over it all. Was it safe to go?

After due consideration, we decided not to let paranoia overtake us. The United States was a second home to us and we knew it well. As I packed suitcases, Elwood began to shutdown the house. So many things to remember. Plug the vents and chimney; drain the hot water tank; winterize the toilets; a set of house keys for the kids in case of emergency; shut off the power to the pyrotenex line; thermostats lowered; fridge cleared of perishables; arrange for
the mail to be picked up once a week; cancel the internet service; put the phone on holiday hold; remove and store the outer storm door, because the deck will surely heave in the winter and block access when we return in the spring.

While all of this was going on I was in telephone conference several times with Val discussing the route we'd travel and sights of interest along the way. We left Calgary on September 30 and crossed the border at a small customs office south of Cranbrook. We'd been warned to expect a delay of up to four hours. However, when we arrived at the border, we were pleased to see just two cars ahead of us and the transport trucks in a line of their own. The Customs Officer asked the same questions we'd come to expect over the years about citizenship,
destination and purpose of the trip. We produced Canadian identification when asked, then opened the trunk for inspection. It was packed full. This was the uh, oh, moment we were expecting. We thought we'd be asked to empty the contents out on the pavement. You know what it's like, such a job to get it all in there and packed just so. To redo it would be a groaner, but we were prepared for the sake of security. But, to our surprise, after a few pats and pokes among the bags, we were sent on our way. At that moment our holiday really began.

Shaun had never crossed the border before. He was surprised that the American side didn't look any different than our side. With one exception that is. The Stars and Stripes were on display everywhere. On bumper stickers; flying on the fenders of trucks and cars; in windows; from rooftops; on lawns; on business signs; on billboards; on motorcycles, bicycles and travel trailers; in all sorts of casual clothing, and of course on flag poles at the usual public buildings. We were in America all right and they were proud of it, defiant as hell, and on the biggest patriotic roll I'd ever seen. This was an outpouring that had nothing to do with filial duty, it came straight from the heart.

They are our neighbours and friends. Many a Canadian family, and ours is no exception, had roots in America just three generations ago. We feel akin to these people. And since the terrorist attacks, in truth, my feelings are more nearly fraternal. I am proud of them. I like that they wear their hearts on their sleeves. I like that they pledge allegiance to the flag and sing the Star Spangled Banner with a hand over their heart. And I like their openness in sharing their love of God and country. They are good, decent people, living in a great country, and we are lucky to share a border with them.

We had a wonderful drive down the California coast. It all seemed so peaceful and normal. There wasn't any gouging on gasoline prices at the stations we stopped at, The redwoods towered as majestically as ever in their ancient forest. The Pacific vistas were beautiful as always. And when the surf was up, the kids were out on their boards dressed in black wet suits, riding their wild waves of freedom. Further along, enormous sea lions lolled on the beaches like grey driftwood, calling to each other with a lion-like roar. Or sometimes, in awkward lunges of motion, making their way across the sand back to the sea.

At the end of the day, in motel rooms, we checked in with CNN for the world news. The movement of troops had begun. The leaders of many nations were coming to the United States to meet with President Bush. I was pleased to see them reaching out as political allies, offering sympathy and support. While slowly, day by day, plans were laid for the necessary retaliation. No emotional war mongering, but a thoughtful, and measured response to these cruel attacks on their American Family.
In those dark days of smoldering disaster, I think President Bush and Mayor Giuliani said and did all the right things to support and encourage the people. They offered strength and assistance for bewildered families to lean on. Praises, much deserved, rang out for both of them. While politically, the President's approval rating soared.

At the gates of Disneyland one new feature had been added. Security. Every person passing through had to open their purses, backpacks, bags, and camera cases for inspection. Inside the Park the weekday crowds were light; the children were in school. But come the weekend, the families poured in. Everyone was relaxed and happy and out for a good time. During that week the United States and England began bombing in Afghanistan.

Our five days there passed happily with all of the usual charm and magic of a Disney holiday. From Shaun's point of view, the Disney portion of the holiday ended much too soon. But it was time to be on the road again. Elwood, Val and I were quite content to have the luxury of one whole day just to sit. We were on the way to Phoenix. It is a lovely peaceful drive once the city fades in the distance. In the Palm Springs area we passed through Windmill Valley. This is quite a sight, a forest of tall windmills, like giant pinwheels spinning for miles along the highway in the hot desert winds, generating much needed power for Los Angeles.

We arrived on the west side of Phoenix right on time for the rush hour. Oh Great! Just what we didn't want. But we hung on and joined the race. It takes about an hour to cross the city to our part of town. Apache Junction is the most easterly subdivision of Phoenix. By late afternoon, we rolled down Southern Avenue and entered the gates of Bonita Vista Park with a sigh of relief. We were home. The American and Canadian flags were flying and a large white banner across the front of the clubhouse, spelled out "Welcome Home". When we stepped out of the air conditioned car into the drive-way by our trailer, the heat was intense. It was the tenth of October, and hotter than any summer day at home. Even so late in the day, the temperature hovered in the 90's.

The town, the Park, everywhere was pleasantly quiet. We were early. Very few of the winter people had arrived. The weather up north was milder than usual. They were still enjoying the extended Fall. Val and Shaun finished off their holiday with eight days in Apache Junction. It was their first time to visit so we enjoyed showing the kids our town; the Mesa Flea Market, and the scenic Superstition Mountains nearby with time left over to lounge around the swimming pool. It was a restful end to a busy holiday. The kids left for home in the early morning of October 21, flying with America West to Vancouver, then Air Canada to Calgary. By suppertime, Val's phone call confirmed they were safely home.

Elwood and I on our own now, settled into quiet routines. We followed the news on television and in the Arizona Republic newspaper. The front page news is usually about New York, Afghanistan, Osama bin Laden, war briefings, the faltering economy, the anthrax scare, the airline, the stock market. And round and round it goes. It's a very troubled time for this nation and many others as well. We are a global family. If I'm proud and glad that my Canada stands beside its neighbours. They need good friends in times like these.

It is comforting for everyone to see people beginning to participate in all the usual things of life. Here in Phoenix there was great excitement over the Major League playoffs, then to have the Diamond Backs make it to the World Series against the New York Yankees was the icing on the cake. The stadium was sold out. Fans from both cities flew back and forth across the country to support their teams. Life was slowly retuning to normal. With the passing of October, American and Canadian residents have started to roll in.

Last week our Park put on a pizza and beer party to welcome us home. I don't think there was an empty chair in the hall. And today, the ladies Salad Luncheon was well attended. We were entertained with readings and songs of Thanksgiving and patriotic themes. At closing we stood together and lifted our voices in singing America the Beautiful. It was a tender moment. My friend from Minnesota was so moved, she wiped sudden tears from her eyes. Beneath the surface rivers of emotion run deep. As we listen to talk shows, current affairs, interviews, and in quiet conversations, we see everything from anxiety, fear, anger, betrayal and sadness. We also see balance and sensitivity and greatness of heart.

Recently on a large road-side billboard we saw a painting of the American flag. Beneath the bright reds and blues of the Stars and Stripes were four little words that spoke eloquently of the American way:

"These Colors Don't Run."