Survivor Tree grows hope

Weeks after the 9/11 attack on the World Trade Center, workers found the charred trunk and roots of a tree buried in the debris. Most limbs were blown away; roots were gone.

Even though the tree had been out of the ground for six weeks or more, the remnant was taken to a nursery where, miraculously, it began to grow again.

Called the Survivor Tree, this callery pear tree is now growing at the 9/11 Memorial.  New growth reaches 30 - 40 ft. high.

After the attacks on 9/11, I took comfort in the fact that the moon and stars were in the sky that night and the sun rose the next morning. There was hope in the cycles of nature.

The Survivor Tree stands as a living testament that we can persevere, we can go on, in the face of the very worst.

Has my life been worthwhile?

I was in New York City last week to celebrate with a friend who was being honored as Global Citizen of the Year by the Whitehead School of Diplomacy and International Relations at Seaton Hall. While there, we toured the 9/11 Memorial where the names of everyone who died in the terrorist attacks are inscribed on plaques that surround water falls that replace the World Trade Center towers.

As we walked through the park, contemplating the people and the lives represented by all those names, my friend commented that she wondered whether what she has done with her life and career make a difference.

The list of accomplishments my friend has amassed during her career includes heading major trade associations, serving in the White House and the Department of Homeland Security, raising two beautiful children, and counting a host of loyal friends and family. The significance of someone as successful as she asking this question touched me.

As we reach a certain age, it is common to reflect on our lives, to wonder how or even if we'll be remembered. The 9/11 Memorial prompts such reflection even if it hadn't crossed your mind before.

On the memorial we find names of firefighters and police officers, average citizens, men, women, children. We see Todd Beamer - the man who famously said "Let's roll!" as he joined others on Flight 93 to overwhelm the terrorist hijackers. His name is inscribed just below the name of Lauren Catuzzi Grandcolas and her unborn child.

People - famous or not; the lives - lived full or not, the Memorial left me knowing each one matters.

Salvation Army gets DOWN!

There's no more competitive environment for the public's dollars and attention than New York City. Visualize Rockefeller Center with its massive Christmas tree, ice skating rink, and high end shopping and you get the picture. This past weekend, the area was packed with locals and tourists. And, on every corner there were Salvation Army bell ringers.

How can the Salvation Army hope to compete with the up scale, highly decorated glitz of a New York City Christmas? Much to my surprise, they were doing just fine.

Each kettle was staffed with two bell ringers. They played rockin' holiday music. They rang those bells. They danced. The dances were high energy drawing crowds of spectators, including several who joined in. The bell ringers had fun and so did the audience.

It was more fun to watch the energetic Salvation Army bell ringers perform than it was to watch the ice skaters or shop. And the best part? Without being asked, people filled the red kettles.

The Salvation Army in New York offers a good lesson in marketing. They might have thrown up their hands and said 'We can't compete against THAT!' but they didn't. They took advantage of the huge crowds drawn by the Rockefeller Center attractions. They upped the energy. They entertained and engaged the public. They didn't stop; they got moving! And I'll bet they had a very merry Christmas.

How'd they do that?

One of the delights of reading historical fiction is learning just how it was to live in another time. Of course, knowing how it was to live in another time is the challenge for the writer of historical fiction.

This week I've been puzzling over how to drive a 1916 Ford Model T. A character in the novel I'm writing buys a used Model T. Another character - a person who has only seen cars from afar  - decides to take the car for a drive.

As I sat there staring at my computer screen, fingers poised over the keyboard, absolutely nothing came out. How could I write about starting and driving a car when I had absolutely no idea how it was actually done. Presuming it was something like today's cars doesn't cut it. It's at moments like this that I envy writers who have a staff of research assistants.

As it turns out, this post could also be titled, "I LOVE Google."  Not expecting much, I typed in 'how to drive a Model T.' To my everlasting delight, the search yielded a host of YouTube videos explaining the process, chapter and verse. The most useful video was created by the Henry Ford Estate. The narrator even wore one of the classic driving coats to lend authenticity.

The videos were very helpful. Helpful enough to get my creative juices flowing and my fingers flying. I'm happy. But not so happy as I might be if I could actually drive a Model T myself. Then I'd know not only how it works, but also how it feels and sounds. Then I'd be sure.

I've told Santa this is what I want for Christmas. I hope he comes through.