We were
using the satellite TV last night
in Fort Worth,
strange watching channel 2 in NYC, anyway we watched the “local”
news. They said the plane went in near the flight 800 memorial.
So, yesterday
morning I set out to work and two things happen 1. I poke my eye real
good while putting on my driving glasses and 2. I get a text message on
my cell phone from Texas telling me that an airplane crashed in our
neighborhood over the weekend. On 9/11 my brother called me from Texas
and told me to stay in Brooklyn, that an airplane had crashed in
Manhattan. How he knows about these things before I do always amazes
me. I did not see or hear of any airplane crash in our neighborhood,
though in the ever listening to things flying overhead I did think that
I heard something rather odd. If the plane went down near the Flight
800 memorial then it is within a mile of the house and I may very well
have heard it. But what freaked me most on the text message yesterday
is that in writing a dystopian short story over the weekend about the
problems of removing protected marine moss from the roof of the garage
and it causing an iceberg the size of Iceland to melt overnight:
"I cannot foretell the happy prospect of a bumper
crop of crocuses;
actually, I have no clue but won’t let on to Marlene. I want to throw
out a
positive spin to the threat of termination from the insurer. I know
full well that
if I do not clean off the moss from the garage roof then whatever other
disaster befalls our house, our property – say the dog bites, mauls and
chews
up a small child -- we will not be able to recompense, to reconstitute
our
lives, bad enough to hold onto the separate policy for flood insurance
without our
property insured against say the wayward jetliner headed out for
England that takes
a detour to land in our suburb or whatever and burn the place to
charcoal and
melted plastic. These landings like school shootings happen with
alarmed frequency."
I have not had
time to check up on the facts of the crash but I will.