Nine Eleven

Neither Mrs. Orr nor I even thought about it being 9/11 today until almost noon. We haven’t been paying attention to any news here in the USA, but have instead been enjoying watching a lot of BBC and Queen Elizabeth II’s funeral preparations and King Charles III’s proclamations and preparations for coronation in the future. It’s really interesting to watch the BBC. It’s declined a lot over the years but it still much more watchable than anything on American tv. I remember being in Scotland many years ago and loving the BBC Radio’s Third Programme, which always had classical music, spoken verse, short stories read aloud, and music and literary criticism. Here in the States, NPR stations are all but unlistenable, except for the classical music programs and the occasional bright spot like Celtic music shows. I remember Molly Shannon and that other chick, whose name I can’t recall, doing very funny SNL skits about two NPR hosts, with the breathy, self-important voices and inane observations. Like they say, it’s funny because it’s true.

We’ve enjoyed seeing footage of the royal proclamations being held in all kinds of little towns and villages across the United Kingdom. The British Empire is dead, and I doubt the monarchy will survive much longer, but it does the blood good to hear the ancient language and the flourishes and the stylings of the elaborately uniformed officials who lead the three cheers and bellow the proclamations. It’s also pleasant to listen to the plummy English accents and to people who actually know how to read the news without mispronouncing and stammering over every third word. There are no real commercials on BBC, except for upcoming shows on the network. This spares us from the sorts of ads on American television where gynecologists gush about the exciting new balm they developed for use between the butt cheeks a balm reported to reduce one’s “crotch odor factor” by five, or the ones where the helpful older female relatives graphically mimic how to use a tampon for the benefit of the teenaged girl in the family. Yes, those are actual television commercials we’ve seen, and there are several others that are as bad or worse.  Our BBC weekend has been enjoyable indeed. We even made a batch of beans & toast, using real Heinz beans we got from a pricey store. I’ve been craving orange marmalade as a result of our telly time, but forgot to get some when we were out and about earlier today.

The 21st anniversary of the date doesn’t really scan with us anymore. We rehash where we were and what we were doing in Ought One when we heard the news about what was going on in New York. But mostly, we look back at all the nonsense that has swept in on gaudy surfboards, riding oily waves on a high tide of Iron Curtain crap like the Patriot Act, and we choose to ignore it. Nothing about this day makes me feel patriotic, nor does it make me feel tied to any heritage in this set of grid coordinates that was once a nation. Better to watch footage of the late Queen and listen to warm accents and talk in low voices about grandchildren and hummingbirds and pork chops and Texas and limelight hydrangeas.

Rest well, dear friends.

~ S.K. Orr