Isis is curled up on my desk tonight, as I get settled into my new home office area. Finally have internet at home again, after over a week without it - snatches of access at places like the library or the hospital just don't compare to having full-time access.
Was at the hospital several times this week, because Bessie's sister Betty has a broken femur. She has RA, and her main medication escalates osteoporosis: when she stepped out of her car the other night, her leg just snapped. She had surgery last night, and is doing better in recovery today - but it's going to be a long, long haul until she can walk on her own again.
After being at the hospital with Bessie all day yesterday - well into the night - today Eyad and I just took it easy.
He worked on his website, and I loaded stuff back onto my desktop computer -- the other day he re-installed Windows XP on my computer and today with internet access restored, I was able to get it back to my preferences.

The last items from The Wren's Nest are now listed on eBay.
Time to get some great bargains - either for yourself or to get some early holiday shopping accomplished!
(The items listed time has currently ended.)
Cheers!
~ Mo

Eyad and I had a WONDERFUL time in Chicago.
He took some fantastic pics.
One is posted on his blog for Looking At The Sky On Friday.
Will try to post more details of our adventures soon.
~ Mo

Everyone has a different remembrance about where they were on 9/11.
All I can do is share my story:

Part One
My paternal grandmother, here-after affectionately referred to as "Gram", is called Ginny by her friends. She's an eternal red-head (thanks, Clairol), who was passionate about world travel. When my grandfather was alive, they traveled extensively through Europe. After his passing, she had one beau who took her on fabulous cruises. She also joined an organization called the "Friendship Force" where she got to travel with other retirees and see the world. It was with the Friendship Force that she saw Brazil, Argentina, Turkey, and Egypt (she was there once before the trip with me). She took me to Egypt on her last international trip.
From Dayton, we flew to New York's JFK via a stop in St. Louis. Yes, look at a map. There was no geographic logic to this St. Louis detour, but there you go.
JFK was a freakin' nightmare of an airport. The terminal we were in looked like something out of a post-apocolyptic movie set. Everything closed, gated off, empty, torn down. Dirty. The walls that should have had payphones were just dangling wires hanging from the drywall where the phones had been ripped out; the mirrors over the sinks in the restroom were ripped off -- one urinal was left in working order, the rest were gone, leaving gaping stinking pipes. This was the 'wonderful' New York City?


Our boarding of our TWA flight from JFK to Cairo was delayed: smoke from a warehouse fire in New Jersey blurred visibility for the pilots.

If I thought JFK's terminal was dirty, I hadn't seen nuthin' yet: the inside of the TWA jet was filthy. It doesn't surprise me one bit that TWA went out of business; I think they were already doomed and just used 9/11 as a convenient excuse.
Gram and I settled in for a rather un-eventful flight.
The first wonder of the trip for me was seeing the Mediterranean from the air as we descended for our landing in Cairo. Dazzling blue waters. Everything Homer said it was, and more. At first, I could just barely make out tankers and cruise ships, then smaller yachts and fishing boats came into view, bright white dots on the magical blue. What was going through the minds of our pilots then? I will never know. As we were flying over the Mediterranean, planes were flying into the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center. Certainly our pilots were informed.
We, as passengers, were blissfully clueless.
The first image I have of Egypt, as we debarked the plane, is of a man in a white uniform holding a sub-machine gun.
That is the sight I saw as I stooped and looked out of our plane's window while we waited to disembark. Shit, I thought, this really is another world. 
If I only knew...

All of us who were identifed as belonging to our tour group were cornered together, like cattle ready to go to the slaughterhouse. We had no idea what the hell was going on.
We were hustled through a corridor of armed Egyptian military men. We didn't pick up our luggage, we did not go through customs. People in our group were shouting, "What's going on?" No one answered .

Through the spaces between the soldiers, we could see throngs of Egyptians massed around televison sets. Some Egyptians pointed to us and yelled, "Americans! Americans!" And they pointed from us to the tv. We were not allowed to stop and see what was happening.
We were quickly loaded onto a tour bus, and it barreled away from the airport.
The bus trip to our hotel took about forty-five minutes. It was dusk in Cairo, even though back in New York City, it was still morning.
The bus driver would not answer anyone's questions. He basically said, "No English."
What could we do? I sat and enjoyed the sights. It was my first glimpse of a foreign city, at sunset. Beautiful and amazing and full of people. People everywhere. Cars everywhere. Honking honking honking. Our bus driver didn't believe in stoplights, if we were even on a road that had such things. He just slowed down, laid on the horn, and went through the intersections. Cars got out of his way.
Night had fallen by the time we pulled through the iron gates into the compound that housed our hotel. The bus driver talked excitedly on his cell phone. As he stopped, a woman got on the bus. She was a beautiful Egyptian woman, in her mid-thirties. Dressed in a flowing flower print wrap and matching head scarf. She clutched a cell phone and a clipboard.
"Hello. My name is Sherri. I will be your tour guide. I must inform you that all activities for tonight have been cancelled. You are to report to your rooms, where your suitcases will be delivered to you. A customs agent will meet you in the morning, so have your passports ready. We will meet in the lobby at 8am. Until that time, I need to ask you to stay in your rooms."
"What's going on?" Yelled someone from the back of the bus. We all were thinking it.
Sherri looked at us.
You know she was not looking forward to this moment.
"America is under attack."
 

Part Two
I don't know if it was arrogance, ignorance, or sheer dis-belief, but the words "America is under attack" were ones that I never expected to hear in my lifetime. And certainly not the words one wants to hear as they step foot for the first time onto soil in the Middle East.
Several people mobbed around Sherri for further details after obtaining their room assignments, but she kept telling people to go watch the television, so Gram and I went to our room. I have no recollection at all of finding the room, receiving our luggage (which somehow arrived to everyone's room in a timely manner), or getting something to eat that night. I just remember turning on the television, skipping through dozens of Arabic-language stations, until finding the BBC, the only English language station. By this time, of course, the Twin Towers had collapsed, the Pentagon had been attacked, and a plane that the BBC reporter said had been destined for Washington DC had crashed into a Pennsylvania field. The BBC kept showing over and over and over people jumping/falling from the World Trade Center Towers before their collapse. And then, of course, the actual collapse footage, over and over and over.

Gram sat dumb-founded, on the edge of the bed in her nightgown, staring blankly at the tv set. I paced the room, intermittently trying to call home. There were no direct out-bound phone lines from our hotel, the operator informed me. I kept trying. Then, I had an idea -- if there were no direct-dialed lines out, how about a collect call? 
I called my maternal grandparents in Cleveland.
I had never been so relieved to hear Grammy's voice in all my life. I told her we had arrived safely, that we were safe, and asked her to please call Mom and Erin, to let them all know I was okay. She was relieved to hear from me, and wished us well.


It was after 1am Egyptian time by this time, and I knew Gram and I needed to get some sleep if we were to be up, breakfasted, checked in by Customs, and at our first tour meeting by 8am. As I walked to turn off the tv set, Gram said, "Melissa."
Melissa? What did she have to do with anything? Melissa is my half-sister. Same father, different mothers. Me and Erin and Melissa are Gram's three grandchildren.
"What about Melissa?" I asked.
"Melissa works in the World Trade Center."




I know my recollection of the events of 9/11 is much different from many Americans.  All I can do is share my experience.  Today, eight years later, all I can do is to remember.  And pray.


These were the first two entries of my journal chronicling my adventure in Egypt that started on September 11, 2001. 
To read more ~ here is the link to #3, or you can search for "Egypt Tour" in the labels in my sidebar, or the first 13 entries are in this former Thursday 13 post.

So - here's the update since yesterday:
The VP of the bank (the boss of the expletive-deleted woman from yesterday) over-rode the decision to seize my collateral.
They will NOT be coming for my merchandise and fixtures on Tuesday.
They agreed to let me have a Going Out Of Business Sale (he apparently knew better than her that I could make more money from the goods than they could at auction - duh!) - so, essentially, I am back in control of things.
Which makes me feel better.
Yes, a quick pulling-off-the-bandaid and it being over with might have been just as good, but mentally, I don't have the anguish that I did before.
So, for that, I am thankful.
~~~
THANK YOU, everyone, for the kind words of friendship, love, and support.  It's been a helluva emotional rollercoaster the past 24 hours, and I would not have made it through without Eyad and YOU!
♥
~Mo